


Exile and Freedom

by Jarakrisafis



Series: Isana [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Dwarf Lore (Dragon Age), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:30:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 38
Words: 40,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21760927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: Exiled, cast out, the Ancestors have turned their back... Duran, once of House Aeducan, is lost under a sky that stretches further than he ever imagined.Faren Brosca doesn't care, he's free... After all, he's always been an exile and the sodding ancestors never cared about him before.One shot char studies in a Universe where both Dwarven Wardens survived.
Relationships: Aeducan/Brosca
Series: Isana [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568344
Kudos: 6





	1. 9:16 Dragon, Orzammar

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave prompts, I make no promises on completing them but sometimes inspiration takes hold.  
> Consider this a warning that this is very much a wip - new chapters will be slotted in where they fit, not necessarily at the end.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Duran makes a new friend.

It's not fair. Trian gets to do all the fun things. I'm stuck in boring lessons. The Shaper is droning on and on. I think he knows I'm not really paying attention, I never do unless it's something interesting like old battles. Trian is old enough that he gets to learn to fight after the noon bell. I'm apparently not old enough. I think I am. The warriors children start learning to fight younger than I am.

The opening of the door is the most exciting thing to happen in marks. It's also annoying as the Shaper leaves to talk so I can't even listen in. I don't move, I learnt the hard way that while they are not allowed to strike me, they can keep me here longer as a punishment. It was long enough that I could feel my stomach trying to eat itself and I was falling asleep listening to him.

"Prince Aeducan."

"Shaper." I say, bowing my head to the correct degree for a child to a revered elder. The more respectful I am, even if he is boring, the more likely he is to believe I'm being dutiful and listening to him and I'll get to go on time.

"I've been called to urgent business, you are free for the day."

I stare at the door for a good minute after he vanishes in a flurry of robes before I scramble to follow his exit strategy. He must have forgotten I'm not meant to leave without a guard and my guard won't turn up until later. I know I should go back to the Palace, but this is too good an opportunity to waste.

I keep my head down as I run through the Diamond Quarter. There's enough traffic out and about that I'm able to keep out of view of the guards until I'm in the Commons and then through and into the Warriors quarter. Nobody stops me as I head into the training grounds. I'm glad now I didn't put anything bright on, my brown nug leather tunic is my comfiest one, even if mother says the colour is too low class. None of them pay me any mind as I enter their dining hall, they're too busy eating and I grab a bowl of what looks to be bronto stew and settle in with the other children my age.

I get a few curious looks, but they're all too busy eating to ask questions. I'm only just finishing when a burly dwarf wanders over. "Breaks over, up you get. Come on, move." I join the crowd. I should tell him that he's not allowed to talk to me like that. It's what Trian says, and father says that lower castes should respect us. But I really want to fight and if he knows I'm sneaking into his class I'll probably be sent home.

I pick up a sword and shield from the pile and settle into the centre of the group. They're both heavier than I expect and the tip of the sword droops when I'm not paying attention. I'm clearly a long way behind as I have to mimic the movements of the one beside me half the time. I'm also glad the blade isn't sharp as I hit myself several times. My arms are aching by the time another break is called, though this time nobody moves to leave the hall as a waterskin is passed around. It's still better than being stuck in a stuffy room.

The boy I'd been copying nudges me, "You new?" He asks quietly. I'm happy to see a badge I recognise, it's the same one father's Second wears.

I grin. "Yup."

"Don't put your sword tip in the ground. Master Varelli will have you running laps if he sees it."

I pull it out of the sand before swinging it up to rest over my shoulder like the other boy is doing. "Thanks." 

We don't get to say anymore. Master Varelli, if the name I've been given is right, moves us back to doing the same moves we were doing earlier but with a partner. It's like a dance. Attack one, defence one, attack two, defence two, then start again.

The bell ringing in the distance and then the quiet "Clean and check your weapons then you're dismissed." Is just in time, my arms and hands are shaking and one of my thighs is still stinging. Master Varelli hadn't been impressed with my lack of height on the overhead blow.

Again I copy my partner as he shows me how to oil and clean my blade down before putting it back in the rack. They should treat them all like they are able to take off fingers, then you're less likely to do that by accident in the future, I'm told.

"I'm Gorim." My partner says when we're done.

I grin back. "Duran." I walk several steps before I realise I'm alone. "What?"

"Duran Aeducan?" He asks when I go back.

"Yes." I admit. I'm not expecting him to suddenly kneel down in the middle of the corridor. "What?"

"I apologise for striking you My Lord."

"Uh." I grab his arm and tug until he's back on his feet and we've moved into an alcove and out of the way. "Wasn't that the point of training?" It's not like I hadn't hit him back. Well, I hit him back once. He was far better than me.

"Well, yes. But you're a Prince." He says and I huff. Oh. This is like the servants all over again. It took me ages to get them to call me Prince Duran instead of My Lord Prince Aeducan. I did try to get them to drop the Prince too, but apparently that would get them into trouble if anyone heard.

I had learnt from that though. "I order you to treat me like you would any other warrior." I say, knowing that he can't argue with me. "Unless there are other Nobles around of course."

"Ah, yes My Lord."

I cross my arms.

"Yes Duran."

I smile and drag him out of the alcove. "Great, glad to have that settled."

He doesn't protest as he's tugged up to the Diamond Quarter. Though I think that's more because he doesn't dare to rather than not wanting to. We slip in through one of the back entrances that the servants normally use instead of through the front. I know the back tunnels pretty well, they're useful for escaping from Trian who won't lower himself to 'using passageways made for the lower castes'. I think he's ridiculous, I can avoid everyone by using them. He has to stop and be nice and smile and worst, talk to all the other Nobles.

I poke my head round the door to the throne room, glad to see it clear of anyone but servants and guards in Aeducan colours. Father isn't in the throne anymore but talking to a guard off to one side and I drag Gorim with me, this time feeling the resistance as he drags his feet.

"... he wasn't at the Shaperate Your Majesty. They hadn't seen him leave."

"Call up your entire force, we need to comb the city..."

"Endrin." Father breaks off whatever he is saying as his eyes follow his Second's finger.

"Father." I say as I drag my captive forwards. "This is Gorim. He's going to be my Second." Beside me I hear a startled squeak from my new friend.

Father stares. His Second stares. The helmeted guard lets out a suspicious sounding cough from behind his faceplate.

"What?" I ask, wondering what it was I said. Adults are so weird sometimes.


	2. 9:20 Dragon, 15 Solace, Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faren learns that the only one he can rely on is himself.

"Pa, we need to go home." I tug on his sleeve, not sure if he heard me over the rumble of voices surrounding us.

Whether he did or did not, he can feel it too if the way he sweeps little Natia into his arms, ignoring her waving arms as she signals she wants down, is any indication. His other hand grabs for Rica and he starts to edge through the crowd. I follow, eeling between bodies and around legs, shoulders hunching as I try to stay unnoticed.

The shouting is getting worse and I duck past a hand that tries to make a grab for me. Need to get home. Need to get home. It's a chant as I duck and weave and I stop to look back, checking on Papa as the shouting turns into screams and yells.

Pa is having more trouble, he's bigger than I am, having to try and push his way through. He's let Rica go, she's small enough to dart through legs like I am but big enough not to be trodden on and she heads towards me, eyes wide and scared. He's nearly to me when he stiffens, a strangled sound escaping him before he falls, Natia screams, a wordless terrified scream of a child and I have to go back. Nat needs me. Legs get in the way and I swear as I try to push past. Hammering my fists against the hands that are suddenly grabbing me, hammering against the solid body that's carrying me further away and I scream at them because they need to let me go.

"Shut up kid." I'm abruptly alone, dropped in a doorway as the crowd surges around me, a mindless mob that's realised the only thing waiting for them is death if they don't leave.

I have to wait for them to go before I can move. 

There's a lot of bodies, some still screaming and moaning. I ignore them. I have to find Papa and Natia and Rica.

I knew what I expected to find. But it's... Why? He looks so surprised. His face is cold as I close his eyes. I can't bear them staring at me. There's blood on his chest, cold and sticky and I wipe my hand on my trousers before reaching shaking hands to his belt. I'll need his weapons and the coins, can't leave them for anyone to take. I loop the belt round my waist, tying it off when the holes don't go far enough round. It'll do for now. The knife is a strange weight on one side and I can feel it rattling against my leg when I move.

"Nat? Ree?" I can't cry. I have to find them. There's only the moans around me, and other voices now, calling names, searching like I am.

A flash of blue catches my eye as I spin around, "Nat?"

No! No, no, no. I reach out a hand. There's no blood. She'd be sleeping if not for the way she's limp and cold. Nobody picked her up. She was too small. I'm crying now, tears dripping onto her favourite dress. The blue, the colour of the sky they say, so rare and hard to find (I'd stolen it in the commons while Papa was bargaining for whatever cloth he could afford) now stained with dirt and dust.

She looks so peaceful, if I ignore the broken edges of her chest, the way one arm isn't bending right. Nobody saw her and she was too little.

I have to move on, have to find Rica. I swipe a hand across my face. I can't cry. "Ree?"

"Faren!" There's a body clutching at my trousers and I reach down to pull her closer. "Where's Papa. Where's Nat?"

"Gone." There's no way to ease her into this. There won't be a mourning period. We just have to move on. "We have to go home."

She doesn't protest, her shoulders still shaking slightly as she tries not to look around, she's never liked fighting. I've heard the other kids call her weak. She's not, she's strong. Just not in the way dust town needs. But that's okay because she's still got me. Pa said that I had to be strong for them. I'll just have to be stronger now.

"The fuck have you been?" Mother asks when we get back, not even turning round to greet us. I push Rica towards the bedroom, quickly telling her to go to bed before closing the door between the two rooms. I'm suddenly so very glad that we have two rooms, I'd rather she not hear this.

"Papa and Natia are dead." I'm so proud of the way my voice doesn't waver.

She does turn to me then, mouth turned down in displeasure. "Yeah, everybody fucking dies don't they. So I'm alone again, just like after your wastrel of a father left." Of course she doesn't care. She never really has. Not for as long as I remember, mother has been synonymous with the scent of alcohol, of moss wine and whatever else she can get her hands on and her world revolves around that. She likes Rica well enough, she's quiet and helpful. I'm just a waste of space and she tells me often enough that she should have let my father take me away to the surface instead of hiding away with me. And Natia would never shut up and give her any bloody peace. Well she's got her peace now, I hope she likes it.

I let Rica know I'll be back and slip out the front door. There are bodies out there that I can loot if they haven't got any kin to find them first. I don't want to, but coin doesn't just appear from nowhere and food doesn't grow itself down here. With father gone and mother, well, I can't wait for mother to sober up and actually do anything useful. It'll be down to me.

I don't have time to cry.


	3. 9:20 Dragon, 24 Solace, Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duran is given a truth he'd rather not believe.

Everybody had been running round yesterday and nobody was telling us anything. It was so annoying. It was why we were out and about, We wanted to know what was going on. What had all the warriors glaring round with hands on their weapons when normally they'd be happy to stop and talk to us. My brothers had vanished, which was hard for them to do Trian was loud and Bhelen was clingy now he'd learnt to run as well as walk. Last night father hadn't come by to say goodnight and Gorim's father hadn't come to pick him up. That usually meant something big was happening. And this morning mother hadn't come to help us get ready for the day.

I caught a flash of gold on a black tunic and ducked down the passageway. Brown hair, not Trian's silver let me know who it was. "Piotin." I said as I slunk closer and poked him in the side.

He flattened his hand in a gesture for silence then beckoned me closer. Voices were clear through the door and I realised Piotin had been listening in.

"There has to be some clue. Somebody is responsible!" Father sounded angry. More angry than when Piotin, Gorim and myself crept into the Assembly chamber and threw little red surface fruit at the Deshyrs.

"We will find them. Patience brother."

Piotin winced and I tilted my head at him. "Mother's angry." He whispered. His mother didn't sound angry to me, just very quiet. Father always yelled when he got angry. Then again, I don't remember my Aunt ever being angry at me.

"I've already got my house checking the usual sources." 

"That's my dad." Gorim whispered from behind me.

"Let us take over this. You need to speak to your children."

"I don't... I... Yes. Of course. I just..." I could hear the sigh through the door.

"Endrin. We'll find them. See to the living."

Footsteps sounded and Piotin's eyes widened. I followed his lead when he dragged me away. We barely made it into an alcove before the door opened. Gorim all but clinging to my back so he wouldn't be seen.

"Do you know what's going on?" I whispered to Piotin. He might have heard more before we got there.

He bit at his lip. "I think so. You need to go speak to Uncle Endrin."

"Why can't you tell us?" I asked as we tumbled out of the alcove and into the corridor.

"I just can't." Piotin said. "I'm going to go find Trian and tell him Uncle Endrin's looking for him."

I looked at Gorim as we were deserted.

"Go find your father then?" He asked.

"He went to look for you." I yelped and Gorim moved to stand in front of me before we both realised it was one of the guards. He was standing in front of the door we'd just been listening at. Father must have told him to guard it when he left because we would have seen him if he was there before.

I trotted down the corridor, trying to think where father might look for me first. Probably my room so that's where we'd go. It was a good first guess. We caught up with them before they got there and I laughed as Gorim's father swung me into the air and then into Fathers arms.

"What's going on?" I asked as I was settled against his side. I waved at Gorim who was clinging to his fathers back.

"Let us sit down first." Father said as he opened the door to my room and let me in before turning round to speak again. "When Trian gets here let me know, otherwise nobody enters."

"Aye, My Lord." The door was closed leaving them on the other side and us alone.

"Duran." Father walked slowly across the room then took a deep breath before sitting down heavily on the bed beside me. "I..." One hand tightened on my covers. "Your mother...

I frowned. What about mother. She hadn't come by this morning to make sure we ate and went to our lessons. "Yes?" I prompted him when he didn't finish whatever he was going to say.

"She was poisoned last night."

"Okay." The healers would sort her out. "When can I visit her?"

Father made a strange sort of noise and pulled me onto his lap, his arms curling round me. "Oh Duran. She..." he had to stop to cough and I could feel his chest shake. "She didn't survive." His arms tightened a little more. "She's gone."

That couldn't be true. Gone meant never coming back like Gorims' mother. She didn't survive a darkspawn attack. "I don't believe you." I said, pushing at his arms. They didn't even budge and I kicked his legs. "Let me go!"

"Duran."

"My Lord, Trian's here." The door opened enough for my brother to step through. Father turned to gesture Trian over and I took the escape offered, slipping through his fingers and out the door before it was closed again.

"Duran!" I ignored my father, reaching a hand out to drag Gorim down the hallway with me. He made a startled sound but didn't protest, not even at his own name being called.

Father didn't know anything.

"What are you doing?" Gorim asked when I finally slowed down several corridors away. 

"Father said mother is gone."

Gorim went still, his hands clenching. "Ah." He said.

"I'm going to go see for myself."

Gorim tugged at my arm, a rare move as he was already well aware that I outranked him. "If they're not showing you it's probably for a good reason. You might be better off not looking."

I stopped at that. I remembered Gorim clinging to me for nights after he had snuck in to see his mother for a last time.

Gorim gave my arm another tug which reminded me that he was a year older than me and already stronger. "We can go down to the training rooms. They'll tell you when you can see her."

I sighed. "I suppose." And if father was lying then I wouldn't have lost anything.


	4. 9:21 Dragon, 4 Guardian, Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Dust Town the Carta is everything. If you want to survive, you let them know you're there. At ten years old, he's more than ready to show them he can be useful.

"Looking to pick up some coppers are you kid? the voice belonged to a well muscled dwarf who was leaning on the crumbling stone wall. A woman was perched beside him, balancing on the top like it wasn't about to fall down and looking at me with curiousity.

I narrowed my eyes before setting my shoulders. "Yeah. You got anything paying?"

The dwarf chuckled at me, one hand darting out to mess up my hair. "You've got guts. I like it."

I slapped at his hand, which just made him laugh even more. "You're still a bit small to fight, but I've got other jobs suitable for smaller fingers."

"So what's the job and what's my cut?"

"Direct little thing aint ya." The woman said with a laugh. "We gonna keep him?"

"I'm not for keeping." I huffed. "Job."

"D'you know how to lift stuff?" He asked and I scoffed. Of course I knew how to do that. How did he think I ate half the time. He smiled. "There's a merchant in from the surface, out on the west side of the Commons. He has something I want. A book called the Magisterium Guide to Herbal Remedies.

"Oh." I let my shoulders drop a little. I might not be able to do it, that was a very long name. "How will I find it? I don't know letters."

"It's got a picture of flowers on the front."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "That's right helpful. What's a flower?"

The woman swung down off her perch, staying back as she slowly pulled a dagger out and settled to the floor. I was ready to run, but she wasn't making any threatening moves so I waited till she'd scratched something into the dirt. She moved away when she was done, letting me move in to look. "That's a flower?" It didn't look like much, just blobs on a small line.

"Pretty much, they're green mostly, while the end bits are coloured."

"And my cut?" I prompted. No way was I going to do it for free.

"Two silver." The dwarf said quickly.

I almost agreed. Except I knew books cost a lot, I didn't know anyone who owned one. "Six silver."

The woman laughed and held her hand out. The man tossed her a copper bit without looking. "Three"

"Five."

"Four."

"Four and you toss in a wineskin of something decent." I was going to have the last say. It'd mean he didn't think I'd just give in if he offered me another job.

"Think you're a little young to be drinking." He said with a raised brow.

"Not for me." I said. "Four and a good wine."

"Deal." The dwarf pushed himself up off the wall. "When you've got it, come look for Lieutenant Beraht or Jarvia at the Broken Skull."

"Got it." I muttered, already thinking of ways to get past the guards. I could use the tunnels, theres plenty old broken ones, they're dangerous to go through, but nobody patrols them. There's a few that come out in the Commons that the guards haven't sealed up yet. Or I could wait till they're distracted and dash through, they don't usually bother us kids when there's adult dwarva to worry about.

Tunnels would be best. If I can do this quietly it'll look a lot better. And a Lieutenant is a decent rank to have knowing you can do a job. Especially from the Broken Skull. That's the bar owned by Delahn's Carta, he's one of the biggest bosses at the moment. Cadash are around too, and pretty big but their boss don't sneak in often, he does more surface work. The Coterie are more smugglers than anything else, they don't have a proper presence. And the rest of the smaller bosses are slowly giving in and joining Delahn's. If I can get this right I might be set for when I get too big to snatch food unnoticed.

I took the tunnels in the end. Dropping down into the Commons behind a big statue. From there I just had to keep my head down and mingle with the traffic. Nobody paid any attention to grubby looking children. I could be anything from casteless to servant, miner or smith. Until I raised my head enough for them to see my brand I was just another kid. I'd also streaked some ash over my face, it wasn't perfect but unless they actually stopped me a first glance shouldn't show my tattoo.

The merchants stall was easy to find. I stopped at the one beside his. Very carefully picking things up to look then putting them down. I did the same at my targets stall, then the one along from his too. I could feel their eyes on me at first, but when I didn't do anything but look, mostly at any tools, I could see them relaxing. Miner's kid, they were probably thinking. I flashed a grin at the last merchant on the row, looking up for just a moment before darting away. Indulgent laughter followed me and I knew they'd not even suspected the shy child who had been admiring the tools of his trade wasn't actually from the caste they expected.

I stopped behind a pillar and settled down to wait. The book was at the back of the stall, hard to reach. Not something I could just lift as I walked past, I was going to need a distraction. My eyes settled on a crate at the end up the line of stalls, a grin settling itself on my face. That was perfect.

Okay.

So I may have made a small tactical mistake.

I bolted underneath my targets stall with a yelp. The merchant next to him swore, and I saw my targets feet stride round his stall to help his next door neighbour round up his property. Nobody was paying any attention to me anymore. Too busy with screaming and running away or swearing and running to help. I popped up and swiped the book that had a green and blue cover with green strands and red blobs. It was the most flower looking one of the lot. I ducked back under the table and peered out. A deepstalker looked back, chirping at me. I thumped it on the head with the book and ran.

It wasn't until I was safely back in the crumbling tunnel with the book in my tunic that I could relax. Next time I'd double check that the crate of nugs I wanted to release was actually nugs.


	5. 9:30 Dragon, 3 Wintermarch, Orzammar

So this is how I'm going to die. Surrounded by hypocrites and self important assholes. Oh they were quite happy to cheer me on not two minutes ago, when they thought I had a different name. I won by my own merit. I beat every single one of them and they cheered for me, until suddenly that victory is worth nothing because I'm not who they thought I was.

And where the fuck was Leske? He had one sodding job to keep Everd fucking unconscious and he fails. What did he think would happen if he let him wander in here? they'd realise the real Everd is a drunken sod and I should take his place. Stone below I wish it worked like that. All the self important snobs might actually have to do something on their own for once instead of hefting a name around when anybody criticises them.

Wouldn't that be novel. They'd actually have to do something for themselves. Thery don't have a fucking clue how good they've got it. As if a squabble over dinner about who looked at who wrong is worth fighting over. How about they try that when what you're fighting over is the dinner itself. Eh, who am I kidding. Aint nothing going to change.

I'm a dead man no matter what I do. There's nowhere to run and no matter how good I might be, I'm only one sodding fighter. And if I actually got away, where would I go? Dust Town'd give me up for a handful of gold. Legion of the Dead would take me, but I'd have to get there first and given I have no idea where they are that would require an escort from the very soldiers who I'd be escaping from. Nobody goes through the Deep Roads alone. Not even us dusters as we sweep the edges we have access to without alerting the warrior caste that there's other ways in go without somebody to watch our back as we hunt for whatever we can get our hands on.

And it's not just me. Fuck, but I won't even get to tell Rica I'm sorry. What will she think, that this was just some game, some childish fantasy I decided to do on a whim? I already hide so much for her. She thinks I'm just one of Beraht's bully boys, she has no idea the shit I've done. I wouldn't want her to know. if she did she'd know it was done for her. Everything i do is for her so she doesn't have to fight for a spot to beg, doesn't have to fight to keep from being assaulted by thugs with wandering hands. I've killed to keep her safe from men and women who looked too closely and tried to take without asking. I don't regret a single thing I've done for her and I'd do it all again.

I'm not going to get another 'again' though. I've failed.

What can I do but raise my head and take the helmet off. Sod if I'm going to let one of those cunts get close enough to do it. And I'm not going to be ashamed of what I am. If I'm going to die I'm going to do it with more honour than the fucking curs surrounding me have.

The Provingmaster doesn't look happy with me, the dwarva with him, no doubt some uptight Noble looks near apopletic with rage. I can smirk to myself at that. I can picture that as I'm killed, see the pure rage I managed to bring about just by existing. The human is an interesting one, but then, he already showed he didn't have a clue about Dwarven culture when he offered blessings upon my house. I appreciate the sentiment, for trying to talk them down, but I could have told him it wouldn't work.

I draw myself up as the rich snob and the Provingmaster head my way, walking over the sand as if they're going to be contaminated just by walking somewhere I've touched. The Warden doesn't reappear, I had thought for just a moment that he might follow them and I'd be able to ask, to have a chance to join him. Not that I have any urge to go topside, I'd have just loved to see if I could make rich snob any redder. He looks like he's one step away from flying into a rage and killing me right here and now.

He won't. That would be too quiet. They'll want this nice and public. Middle of the Commons, close enough to Dust Town they can hear and see what's going on. It won't just be a punishment for me, they'll make it into a warning for anyone else there who might think about stepping out of line.

I smile when they stop well out of range of my weapons. Disappointing. If only Everd used something less clunky than a sword and shield. I've always favoured keeping on the move and not getting close enough for anything to hit me. Not that I can't use these, obviously, won the Proving didn't I? But a nice brace of knives and I could drop rich snob right now. Last thing he'd see is the flick of my hand. This close I wouldn't miss.

"You foul the very air of this place brand." Rich snob says, and he sounds even angrier than he looks.

"You were happy enough to clap for me before, hypocrite." I say mildly, watching his hands clench on the pommel of a mace slung though his belt and a dagger hilt on the other side. 

"Be silent." He snarls. "I am Prince Trian Aeducan and you will respect me."

Respect him for what? For forcing me into a situation I can't win and then expecting me to roll over like a kicked nug. A rough bark of laughter escapes me as my lips stretch wide in a smile that's all teeth. "You. Are no Prince of mine."

He splutters, incoherent with anger and motions the guards to move in.

I raise my sword and shield. I will not go down without a fight.


	6. 9:30 Dragon, 3 Wintermarch, Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faren finally catches up with Beraht.  
> Warning: char death, implied offscreen rape.

"Now what?"

"Now you drag them out and guard the door." I say mildly, flipping a knife as I peer down at the injured dwarf at my feet. He's unconcious, for now, I know I didn't hit him that hard though. He's going to have a splitting headache when he wakes no doubt, though that will probably be the least of his concerns.

Leske looks like he might argue, then he snaps his mouth closed and goes to grab the first of the two thugs that had been with Beraht. I kneel down, letting my hands flick through a quick search. A few coins, a wineskin and some paper that are as useless as kindling to me. And disappointingly he only has a single knife tucked away. I put my own away and keep hold of his, it's good quality steel unlike the rusting shit I managed to get hold of. I rub a thumb over the ruby inset on the pommel. This probably cost more than I've ever earned in my life. It seems strange to put so much effort into making something that only has a single purpose so attractive. There's far better uses of wealth in my opinion.

"Faren." Leske says, pausing in his grab for the second body, his arms already hooked under the shoulders in a parody of an embrace.

"You heard what he said about Rica. I have the sodding right."

His hands clench in the fabric beneath them as his gaze strays to Beraht before a tiny huff of air escapes him, "don't mean I like it salroka," he turns away, dragging his burden out the door to join the first. "Let me know when you're done." The door is shut with a soft thump of stone against stone.

"Just you an me now." I say before emptying the wineskin I found on his belt over his face. He splutters, twisting to one side and coughing, his eyes slowly focusing onto me. "Hello Beraht." His eyes dart to the empty room, his breath hissing between his teeth. He's no different right now than the various people he's had me shake down for missing coin. He's not untouchable, invulnerable. He's as mortal as anyone else down here and he's alone, no thugs to keep him safe. No guard to come running if he screams for help.

"Brosca." He says, eyes settling back on me and the knife I'm still holding as he carefully pushes himself to his feet. I follow every moment he makes with the blade, just in case he's getting any ideas.

"Did I, or did I not fucking warn you about speaking about my sister like that?" I ask, using the knife to point at him and he flinches away from the point when it presses against his shoulder, the edge cutting through cloth without the effort I have to put in with mine.

He raises a hand, pressing at the cut and I see blood on his fingers. "Just having a joke around, you know how it is."

"No. I really don't." I state twirling the blade. "I don't recall ever hearing you and your bully boys being part of the deal with her finding a patron."

He shrugs lightly. "She never protested."

I hiss, hand tightening round the hilt as things drop into place. Why Rica would sometimes not want to talk to me. How she avoided my eyes some nights. How she'd shrug and turn the topic to what I'd been doing that day. "Of course she wouldn't, if she did you'd pull your sodding support from behind her wouldn't you, you fucking asshole?"

He smiles, "it was a mutually beneficial relationship," he says it in the same patronising voice he often used before a job, as if he's pointing something out to a child. "And now I'm the only one that can keep you safe from the deep lords."

I shake my head. "You still don't fucking get it do you? I don't give a shit about whether I survive, I accepted I was dead as soon as that drunk fucking sod of a warrior stumbled into the arena." He opens his mouth to say something and I cut him off. "Everything I've done has been for Rica. She's the only reason I've not turned my back on you and walked out to join the Legion of the Dead. Right now she's safe. She's got a patron. The main threat to her that I can see is you."

His eyes widen before his expression smoothes out, trying for his usual unconcerned mask. "Me? A threat? I need her alive might I point out. We're on the same side here."

"No," I say slowly, "we're really not. You're on nobodies side but your own."

He wouldn't have lasted so long if he didn't have a good sense for when a deal was going sideways.

I wouldn't have survived if I hadn't got a good sense for when I was about to be jumped.

I jerk back as he lunges at me, his fingers slipping off the hilt of the knife and tightening around the cracked leather vambrace I'm wearing. He smiles as he pushes forwards, his weight and strength, borne from being better fed, older and determined not to die bears me backwards. His other hand claws at my throat for a moment before it falls away and I'm the one pushing forwards.

He blinks, coughing slightly, a confused expression taking over his face as he looks down. He backs away, one step, a second before sinking to his knees. I smile as I follow him, my second hand reaching out for the unadorned hilt sticking out from beneath his ribs. It might not be decorated and it might be old, rust gathering on the edge faster than it can be kept clean, but in the end it's done what it was made for.

I pull it free, smiling as his body hits the floor. I don't look back as I head for the door.

It's done. Rica's free.


	7. 9:30 Dragon, 10 Wintermarch, Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duran won his own Proving. he shouldn't be worried about a small trip into the Deep Roads. Should he?

"Mother loves you right now." Piotin says as he pours a drink for me. 

"She does?" I ask, somewhat warily. Piotin's mother is far scarier than anyone else in the family.

"She watched the first exchange of blows in your first fight then says to Uncle Endrin, 'I bet I can tell you who that is.' Uncle said she couldn't possibly know, not with the generic standard issue armour and you being introduced as a Scion of Orzammar."

"Father took her bet didn't he?" I ask, though it's mostly a rhetorical question by this point. I accept the crystal tumbler he hands me with a nod of thanks. "When will he learn not to bet against her?" She's Fathers younger sister, surely he should have learnt while growing up that simple fact, but no, he falls for it all the time.

Piotin grins. "Five sovereigns. She went and got a slate, wrote a name and put it down so the writing was hidden. Didn't touch it till you took your helmet off."

I swirl the amber liquid before taking a sip. "How pissed off was Father?" 

"At what?" Piotin says with a grin as he kicks his shoes off and swings his legs up onto the chair. "You sneaking into the Proving that was meant to be for you, or at losing yet another bet."

"Both?"

"About your sneaking; more exasperated than annoyed. Trian was angrier, said it wasn't right. Your Father cut him off and said there wasn't a rule against it. To be honest he was more occupied by arguing that Mother cheated somehow and he didn't owe her."

Oh joy. Trian's going to be annoyed at me about this as well now. As if it's my fault he never got to fight in his own Proving because he was too stupid to consider switching armour and entering anonymously.

"I'll just stay out of the way of both of them, let them cool off tonight."

"Probably for the best given tomorrow." Piotin says before lifting his tumbler in a salute. "Looking forward to your first official sortie tomorrow as a Commander?"

"I suppose." I say slowly, swirling the sweet alcohol round and watching the light reflect of the facets of the diamond. He leans forwards slightly, a curious expression on his face. "I'm looking forward to going out. Don't think anybody really relishes finding 'spawn though." 

He makes a face and flops back into his seat. "Good point, they stink."

"And don't forget the eating you, tainting you or just outright killing you part." I say as deadpan as I can.

He snickers. "It'll be fine. You know tomorrow is more ceremonial. A short foray to show you can do the job."

"You know my luck, cousin. I'll manage to run into 'spawn somehow."

"Or a huge deepcrawler nest, and that's what Orzammar will remember of their newest Commander. A Dwarva victorious: but covered in blood and webbing."

"Urgh," is the only response I can make to that suggestion. Spider web is an absolute pain to get off. It sticks to everything. So you can just end up moving it around from one spot to another or sticking the cleaning rags to your armour.

Piotin laughs before raising his tumbler and downing what's left. "I'm going to head to bed, I'll be heading out with one of the groups tomorrow. Try and actually get some sleep rather than staring moodily into the fire."

I lift my own tumbler in farewell as he gathers his abandoned boots and pads out with them in one hand, the half empty bottle of whatever we've been drinking in his other. "Night cousin."

The door clicks shut behind him. I sigh, draining what's left in my own tumbler, grimacing at the too sweet taste of an alcohol that's better sipped slowly than downed in bulk. That's what the nug piss the Commons Taverns call beer is for.

I'm not worried about tomorrow. I'm not. I've been out in the Deep Roads before under other Commands. I've fought darkspawn, deepcrawlers and deepstalkers before. It's as I get up to close the lamps that it strikes me. I'm not worried about what's out there. I'm worried about what Bhelen spoke of this morning. If Trian is plotting against me, that is going to be the perfect time to strike.


	8. 9:30 Dragon, 18 Wintermarch, Ferelden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duran's first steps topside do not fill him with any sort of hope for the future.

"Here."

Whatever is being pushed against my hand is soft and I tighten my fingers before I can think about not accepting whatever it is. I pry one eye open, squinting down at a strip of black fabric. Holding it up to try and work out what I've been given; it is simple enough to work out the answer. It's just long enough to be tied snugly, the loose ends blending in with my braids. Duncan has clearly done this, or been told about this, before.

It's not solved the problem entirely, nothing can solve it except going back through the passageway we just exited. It has dulled the bright light enough that trying to see where I'm going is no longer painful.

"Figure I look like a right fucking twit now." The Brand says as he steps forwards to follow the Wardens, his own eyes bound against the glare.

"No more than most dwarves do when they come to the surface for the first time I imagine." Duncan says mildly before turning to me. "Duran?"

"I'm fine." I say and he nods before following his men, their outlines already blurred by the gauzy fabric. My eyes better adjust quickly, I don't appreciate being half blind and unable to see clearly more than a few paces ahead of myself.

I give the cracked stone we squeezed out from behind a last glance. I could still go back. Try and find the Legion of the Dead. I'd likely be dead before I come close to even finding a sign of them. Being alone in the Deep Roads - it's not the darkspawn that'll kill you. It's exhaustion. On your own there's nobody to watch your back as you sleep. Nobody to keep an eye out as you gather food. Nobody to watch your back when your feet start to drag.

I've not been conscripted, there's nothing forcing me to follow them, yet what else have I got? I've not been exiled to the surface with a cushy pouch of gold and a list of contacts. No merchant house with contacts in Orzammar would take me on. Knowledge that they're working with one who was sent to walk the Roads would lose them more than any help I could give would be worth. My only craft is war, I'm no smith or scholar. So that leaves what, guard work? Most of that outside the merchant caravans is no doubt organised and run by whichever Carta is in control up here. I refuse to stoop that low.

Which means following is my only choice. To have the dubious honour of becoming a Grey Warden.

Even one who hates reading as much as I do knows this is no honour. It's as much a death sentence as the Legion of the Dead. As much as staying in the Deep Roads alone is. Of course it's probably slower than either of those. Then again, if this is a Blight as Duncan believes it may end up being a quicker death.

I raise a hand, shadowing my face to find the moving forms against the unfamiliar backdrop before moving in that direction. How can there be so much up here? So many different types of plants. How can it still feel so empty? The air itself is different. Lighter. And colder. There's a bite to the air that winds its way into clothing. It's nothing like the bone deep cold of the Deep Roads where the great lava tracks have been blocked and the tunnels are unheated.

It even smells different. There's no smell of fire here. Orzammar has so many different fire smells, from the smokey glow of oil lamps in the Commons to the great kilns and forges of Orzammar that can't afford to purchase refined smokeless coal. The surface smells like the workshop used by the healers in Orzammar's army. All greenery and flowers mixed together until nothing alone can be picked out. 

And the sky is as empty as they said. An endless blue that stretches on and on. It does seem like if you look up for too long you might just leave the ground. Step out onto nothing but air and just stroll out into the endless blue. It's easier to keep eyes facing down and track the party ahead by their voices than it is to look up and catch sight of the sky.

Each time I do it's just a reminder that I can't turn back when I expect to see stone and instead see light. I won't let them see how much it effects me though. I was a Prince, a Commander, a Noble. I might not have the titles anymore, but I'm not going to change into a quivering wreck. I survived the Deep Roads alone. I can survive the endless sky.


	9. 9:30 Dragon, 20 Wintermarch, Ferelden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The surface does not agree with Duran. He doesn't particularly agree with it either.

The sky is... Amazing? Daunting? Frightening? I've not quite decided yet. Night is good. The sky has been cloudless and the stars are not too bad, like far off lanterns on a cavern ceiling. Dawn and dusk were enthralling, watching the play of red over the mountain peaks. Daytime is where the fear starts to press in, the blue seeming to never end, stretching on and on. If I left the ground would I keep falling?

I can't keep my mind occupied for long, always going back to the sky and the vast expanse of nothing that fills my vision. If I'm honest with himself, I hate that blue. It's a sign of everything I've lost. Every time I raise my eyes from the ground I can't miss seeing it when I should be seeing stone instead. Duncan caught me looking the other day and smiled at me, saying it is a pleasant day and that I should be glad of the lack of clouds. I think I'd rather have the clouds, if the grey-white wall that was hanging in the sky one morning in the far distance was indeed cloud. It would block out the blue, give the endless expanse above me a proper ceiling. It won't make the empty feeling in my mind go away though, the empty beat that says I'm lost because the Stone that I've felt all my life is gone. I hadn't even noticed until it wasn't there and I'm not sure how I can stand the lack. I'm no longer surprised that there are tales passed around about what happens to dwarves that go to the surface... Going mad because they have lost something they didn't know they needed.

I don't know where we're going to, I'm no longer sure I care either. I'm just so tired. Even dwarves have limits and I was near to hitting them when I stumbled across the Wardens in the deeproads. Duncan had held on from moving on for a few hours, let me sleep, but it hadn't been long enough and we've not stopped for long since, every break just enough to keep me at tired instead of exhausted.

Something is pushing the Wardens onwards and they won't wait for one wayward dwarf if I stop moving. Blight, Duncan said, in what seems a lifetime ago in my fathers halls in Orzammar. It seemed far away then but now it's like a force drawing the Wardens towards it and I've agreed to join them. Madness surely, if I knew how to survive in this forest I'd be long gone by now, unfortunately leaving now would be just as deadly as the Blight, I don't have a clue how to hunt any of the things they bring back or what leaves to pick to put in the stew pot.

I stumble over another tree root, the humans shortcuts are full of bushes and trees and greenery that clings and burns. I already have several marks, from thorns and from one bush that burnt, my skin swelling where it had come into contact with the leaves. Stone is predictable, I can walk over that and hear it sing to me; of precious metals and gems so I know where to dig for treasure, of cracks and strain and where to step to avoid setting off a rock fall. Trees are silent. They don't let me know where to step and my next stumble sends me into the other dwarf. The brand Duncan had conscripted after he entered the provings and was found out.

“Watch where you're going.” The light blue eyes flash with annoyance in a face that could be handsome if not for the scar running across the opposite cheek to his brand as he braces himself and keeps me upright instead of letting me end up sprawled on the floor again.

“Get out of my way then brand!” I snarl back, arm lashing out to strike him for even daring to talk like that to me. I deserve more respect than that.

I don't expect my arm to be grabbed before the blow falls, the grip strong and unyeilding as the brand tugs me off balance. I feel the strike of his foot as it sweeps round, thudding painfully into my shins that are only covered by the leather I found in the deeproads, my own armoured boots left behind along with the rest of my armour and weapons.

I don't expect to be face down in the dirt and my startled yell is muffled by the rotten leaves and I splutter as I tries to draw in a full breath. It's not easy with the weight of another dwarf pressing into my back. I'm too surprised by the fact the brand dared to touch me that the knife at my throat doesn't register until I feels the sting of pain from it nicking my skin. Pulling away from the blade wrenches my arm where it is twisted up behind my back and I growl, frustrated at how easily I've been subdued. The Deep Roads took more of my energy than I realised.

“Listen up. Out here you've got as much rank as I have. If you forget that I'll carve a fucking brand into your face so you can't forget.” The voice is quiet, the words evenly spoken and I can feel the other dwarf's breath at my ear. It's not a threat. That's a promise. I remember watching the brand fighting, skill to match any warrior, for all that it was rough and unpolished. Definitely a promise.

The weight from my back is abruptly gone and I push myself to my knees. “And my name is Faren, I suggest you remember it.” The boots turn away and continue on, leaving me to spit out a mouthful of forest mulch and gingerly reach a hand to my neck. By the time I've worked out it's nothing more than a superficial cut and my tangled beard came off worst I'm once again being left behind. I don't have a choice except to stumble onwards with a curse against the topside world. When I look up, blue is still surrounding me through the gaps in the trees and I still hate it.


	10. 9:30 Dragon, 21 Wintermarch, Ferelden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anyone asked for Faren's opinion... He is so done with Duran's whining.

If anyone asked for my opinion (which is as likely as nugs growing wings and learning to fly) I would say without missing a beat that my fellow dwarf and decidely unhappy travelling companion is an arrogant, entitled nob. That is what I'm expected to say, and while true it's definitely not all there is to say. I've always prided myself on being able to see what others don't. Subtle body language and words that go unspoken are what I see, and I can almost feel the taste of a crowd, feel when it's time to leave before it turns into a mob. It's kept me alive in Dust Town and with a little refinement to account for humans and elves it will no doubt serve me well here too.

For now though, it's Duran who I can understand and I have to hide the amusement at knowing I'm better than a noble. Ex-noble. I know because he can see how adrift he is, floundering around for anything he can hold onto to stay afloat. I am of course the only thing round here that he recognises too. I'm getting tired of being the branch Duran is clinging to, especially when the grasping is trying to push me back into my well ordained place. Ordained by the so called Ancestors. Load of fucking nugshit. I'm not in Dust Town any more and I won't duck my head and pretend I'm worthless just to make him feel better.

I let out a long sigh, watching the tent Duncan had provided for us to share slowly collapse like a deck of cards, a sharp curse cutting through the canvas as the ex-noble flails on the inside. I give the fire a poke, deciding it's lit enough that it won't go back out if I abandons it for a moment. “Here.” I says brusquely as I haul the nearest end up and Duran crawls out of the mess he's made of what should be a simple job. He looks like he wants to say something yet the biting remark I expect never materialises. Instead he just sighs, sitting on the ground with his back to the fire, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly as he stares at the pile of canvas and poles.

“You are really not bothered about this?” The question, when it arrives to fill the sudden silence is soft, only just louder than the now merrily crackling fire. It's the first time Duran has spoken to me without the tone suggesting I'm worth less than nug droppings.

“The tent?” I ask with a faint frown as I move away to add some more of the deadwood I'd collected onto the fire. “I've slept in worse places.” The tent at least is clean. Well, slightly stale maybe, water damp and a faint hint of clinging mud. But there's no copper and iron stink to it, no red/brown stains of blood etched into it's weave. No, I've slept in far worse places than that.

Duran shakes his head, “About everything. You don't seem bothered by the sky. Or the plants, the lack of stone...” He trails off and shrugs slightly, as if he's not even sure what exactly he's asking.

The thing is, I am bothered. I've just learnt to hide it better. I'm used to disappointment and things not going my way. You never show it bothers you or that'll be a weakness that will be exploited again. Dust Town doesn't give second chances. “The skies a little disturbing.” I allow, not sure why I'm admitting it bothers me at all, this strange new world. Perhaps it's that for me while one door has been slammed shut, far more have opened. I'm eating and drinking better than I have for as long as I can remember, my knives are all strapped at my side in full view and nobody is telling me I shouldn't be armed. And my opinion actually matters to the Wardens we are travelling with. So sure, I've got to learn the new signs that warn of danger, but overall, my future is looking brighter than it ever has before. Putting up with the endless sky and the greenery is a minor detail for that. “I've been in worse situations than this.”

I ignore how Duran leans ever so slightly towards me when I sit back down, a tiny unconscious gesture as he seeks comfort that his upbringing should be telling him he cannot possibly find with branded scum like me. “Worse?” The ex-princes laughter is slightly hysterical and he winces as he goes to run a hand through his hair and it catches in a tangle. “How do you get worse than being banished?”

Spoilt, arrogant, entitled nob. “How about when I had to tell my mother the man I called father and my youngest sister weren't coming home because they'd been caught in a mob. How about when nobody will hire you because you're too young and you go hungry for the third day in a row. How about when you try to shift rocks with your already bleeding hands because there's been a cave in and nobody else cares. When you say you'll do anything to keep what little family you have safe and they are still in danger. Or perhaps when your friends are executed just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time despite there being no evidence. or when you get spat on for just trying to survive.” Duran recoils at the venom, blinking slightly in surprise. “Do go on, tell me, what could be worse than banishment?” I spin in place to poke at the fire again. I hadn't meant to say that. I really hadn't, but it was like a pebble sliding down an unstable rock face, once I started there was no stopping, because Duran just doesn't understand and I don't know how to make him see.

The silence stretches until there's a rustle of cloth and then a faint pressure on my upper arm, fleeting, but present. “I'm sorry.” The words are near inaudible and I am so close to turning round and spitting on his apology, unable to believe that Duran actually means them, yet there's something in the slight shuffle as he backs away, not quite fleeing that makes me hold. The sounds of canvas being laid out fills the clearing again as Duran starts to set the tent out for a second attempt.

It's not an easy silence that fills in the space around the crackling fire, but it isn't tense either. It doesn't stop me from being glad when the Wardens start to trickle back in from hunting, foraging and scouting. I'm even reluctantly impressed when I manage a full nights sleep without the tent falling down on me.


	11. 9:30 Dragon, 16 Guardian, Ostagar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Go to the Tower they said. It'll be an easy job they said. Duran calls nugshit on that.

The Tower has been taken. Of course the Tower has been taken. What else could possibly go wrong tonight? No, best not to even think that, the Ancestors might just think that's a challenge. I shake my head, drops of water spraying off the helmet I procured from the quartermaster. Not that removing water helps. Thy sky is producing more just as fast. How does it hold so much? And why did it choose tonight to let it all go. I flinch at another flash and rumble. The sound is eeriely like a cave in and no warrior that's been in the Deep Roads would be happy hearing that.

I look up as Faren slides back into the scant cover of the pillar I'm crouching behind. He'd vanished into the sheets of water as soon as the guard had made their report, only a soft, "wait here" floating back to us. I would have much preferred if he'd waited to agree on a plan but once he was gone there wasn't much I could do except settle down behind cover. I'm not good at the sneaking about.

"Three archers on a hastily raised platform towards the Tower wall, then seven more with short arms." He whispers.

I hum slightly thinking through the options and letting them play out in my mind. I can talk to him later about communicating before disappearing. "Can you get onto the platform without them seeing you?"

"Easily." He says and I can almost hear the sarcasm and disdain dripping of the single word. How was I to know if he could do that, it wasn't like he'd been trained to fight like my scouts had been.

"You get up there, take the archers out, as soon as you break cover we'll go for the rest. We can keep the human with the other crossbow as a rearguard."

He nods and I raise a hand towards Alistair and flick my fingers threough the battle plan. He gives me a bemused stare and beside me Faren snorts slightly. That's going to be more of a problem than the darkspawn are. How am I meant to pass on orders if they don't understand them? Beside me Faren points at the humans, then points at me, repeating it until Alistair nods. Crude and nowhere near as refined as mine but hopefully 'follow Duran' is enough for me not to end up engaging seven darkspawn alone.

"Well. The fuck are we waiting for?" Faren whispers beside me.

"For you to move?" I hiss back.

He gives me a long look before slinking back out into the rain, I carefully peer round the pillar, holding as still as I can so the darkspawn arguing amongst themselves don't wise up to my presence. Faren has vanished completely, using what little cover there is to make his way around to the platform. I tense, taking a tighter grip on my mace, any moment now...

One of the archers topples off the platform. The only sound it makes is the wet thump as it hits the ground and the darkspawn spin round, snarling and growling. I charge.

I skid past the first genlock, my blade far too low as I try not to lose my balance. Grass apparently acts like lichen covered rock, and I have to turn round to finish it off. The squishing sound of feet in wet grass, so unique to the surface alerts me to the next and I spin, shield raising against the maul that's heading down at me. The impact rattles down my arm even as my blade flicks out. It darts back, growling as it raises a hand to the shallow gash I carved into its chest.

It smiles, eyes flickering to over my shoulder for a moment and I step to one side, blade catching on a hastily moved shield. Two on one, I can deal with that. I let my eyes shift over the little battlefield. Alistair is pushing a hurlock back into a corner, the two guardsmen are holding their own working together against two more genlock. With the one I downed that's six, there's no time to keep looking as I defend myself, never keeping in one spot so they can't get behind me.

It's the rain that I've been cursing that saves my life as the last darkspawn reappears. Alchemy can help cloak a person in shadow or hide them from eyes, but it can't make you disappear completely and the rain not occupying a spot was all the warning I needed to avoid the strike. Metal rings on metal as I block the blades from ripping my throat open.

Three on one are not so good odds and I whistle, the sharp sound echoing back off the Tower walls, now would be a great time for some backup. I twist away from another maul blow, following it up with a slam of my shield while the beast is off balance, it stumbles, tripping up and I shift to the next only to step back as it topples over, only the fletching of a crossbow bolt visible from where its buried itself through an eye and into a brain.

The rogue who tried to sneak up on my backpedals, alarmed at the sudden death and I take it's throat out without trouble. The last of the three is still on the floor and I gut it with quick efficiency before realising it was trying to pull a crossbow bolt out of its foot.

"That was bracing." Alistair says as he trots over, the guard not far behind and I shake myself out.

Faren turns up a moment later, dropping off the platform with a wet thump. "Thanks for the save." I say trying to keep my annoyance at needing help from a brand from my voice and he nods.

"Should have yelled for help." Alistair said as he wiped his blade down.

Faren beats me to saying anything. "No wonder you topsiders don't do so well in fucking Blights. Even dusters like me know basic shit like this. You don't open your sodding mouth to yell when you're fighting darkspawn. Not unless you want to learn what its like to slowly be poisoned from the inside out?"

"Not particularly." Alistair says before brightening. "Wardens don't have that problem though." Faren very pointedly looks toward the guards who are not Wardens until Alistair shuffles in place. "Yes, okay, so you fight in silence?"

"Dusters like me? Pretty much, you'd whistle if you need anything. But we were usually there to hunt for food not to fight 'spawn."

"The army uses drums to give orders." I say with a small shrug.

Faren shakes his head, water spraying off his leather cap. "We need to keep moving. Duran'll teach you fingerspeech and whistles later."

"That's if there's a later." Alistair says morosely.

"I don't recall volunteering to do that." I mutter as I fall in beside Faren and ignore Alistair, I don't need pessimism right now.

"You're going to keep trying to give 'em orders like that, you're going to teach them." He says. "Now wait here while I go scout round the corner."

I stare after him. "If I'm giving them orders." I mutter. "Ha. I'm not the one giving the orders."


	12. 9:30 Dragon, 16 Guardian, Ostagar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faren should have expected something like this. Topside isn't so different after all.

I shiver at the wind as I cling to the wall, fucking human head height windows that mean I have to climb to actually see anything. The fire is burning. Did it take us too long to fight through the fucking horde that had tunnelled their way into the Tower? I run my eyes over the horizon, squinting through the rain.

"Can't see anything in this." Duran says from his own spot of wall. he's squinting as much as I am to try and see. The darkness isn't much of an issue, I can make out the edges of the stone walls of the keep fairly well. It's the trees and rolling earth that's giving me a headache, and the weather. I have to wonder if humans and elves simply have eyes that can see when water is constantly dripping into them and creating a grey haze that covers everything.

"There." I point, blinking against the sudden sharp blinding light from a sky-flash. I'm starting to think I'm imagining things as I peer at the ridgeline, the light having left shadows in front of me whenever I blink. For a moment I can't tell if the shadows are of my own making or if they're people slowly forming up into a battleline.

"I see them." Alistair says, "why aren't they moving, they can't miss a fire this size."

I have a bad feeling forming in the pit of my stomach, sinking like a rock to the bottom of a pool. Across from me Duran glances my way, his own lips pressed together and a tightness around his eyes I've never seen before. "Stone blind cur." He mutters and I raise my eyebrows at the unexpected curse. At least I'm not the only one waiting for the inevitable.

The moment seems to stretch as the army on the ridge holds there, armour glinting in the fires from the battlefield below and the light that flashes across the sky.

"What? Where's he going?" Alistair pulls himself forwards, as if by leaning half way out of the window he can make Teryn Loghain have seond thoughts about pulling out of the battle.

I grit my teeth, fingers curling into the rock beneath my fingers. "Sodding conniving fucking nug-licking bastard." I hiss as I drop back to the floor. This isn't the first time I've been betrayed, I'm hoping it won't be the last either. It doesn't help the anger that fills me. At Loghain for leaving, at Cailan for being such an idealistic fool, at the darkspawn and the archdemon that's lurking somewhere. I hate being so helpless, like when the betrayer is from a caste high enough above my own theirs no way I can touch them. Nobles think they're so much better than us, while they use and discard us without a care. I never could touch them. I'll fucking find Loghain and prise a reason from him if I have to carve it out of him.

Duran thuds down behind me. "If not for the horde down there I'd say well played." He mutters as he scrubs a hand across his face. "So now what?"

I shift slightly. A small smile turning one side of my mouth up. I might have the one thing that will get us to Loghain. Maybe. "Would you mind looking at something for me." I say tightly before reaching into my armour. The scrolls I pull out are still mostly dry, the ink looping over the pages in an incomprehensible sprawl. "I may have reacquired these from Duncan."

"Is that..." Duran starts before striding over, his eyes flicker down the pages for just long enough to make sense of them and a smile that matches mine forms beneath his beard. "Keep hold of them. If we gather the rest of the allies mentioned in those treaties we can field another army."

"Loghain?" I ask as I roll them back up and put them back under my armour.

"Will be compelled to answer by the one that calls the Ferelden Bannorn, and we'll make sure he's in the front and centre so he can't pull out." Duran gives me what might be a friendly smile.

"So right now our priority is to get out of the Tower and to get the fuck away from here."

"We can't leave them!" Alistair says from the window.

"Why not? They're losing, in case you didn't notice, I doubt the three of us are going to make that much difference. Our priority has to be these treaties."

He sighs. "I just..." Whatever he's about to say is cut off as he whirls towards the door. "About that getting out." For all his ideosynchracies and ability to bounce from optimist to pessimist and right out to joker, he's never once joked about the presence of darkspawn when he senses them.

I pull my crossbow off my back, running a hand over the bolts I've got left as Duran shifts his shield into his hand. The chittering and screeching of darkspawn echoes up to us as I haul the string back, setting a bolt in place. I'm running lower than I'd like, I'm going to have to make every one count.

The door bursts open. The first hurlock through falls back with a bolt through its eye. The genlock crowding behind it screech in indignation, hesitating only a brief moment before they pour though and I settle into the motion of hauling the string back, setting a bolt and firing.

There's no time to think of anything else.


	13. 9:30 Dragon, 2 Drakonis, Ferelden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By request: What exactly do dwarves eat? There's not exactly fields of grain and herds of cows or sheep underground.

"What are you doing?"

I wasn't going to signify that with an answer. What did Alistair think I was doing? It's not like it should be hard to guess. I make sure I have a good grip as I whack the fish against the rock until its 'alive and air-drowning' turns to 'dead and twitching'.

They had been hard to catch until I realised it was yet another thing up here that was back to front. These fish wanted shade from the sun, once I'd got that sorted it was just like catching rockfish. Except using my own shadow instead of lantern light as bait. There were several types of fish in the river but none that I recognised, so I'd just chosen these as the biggest and thus easiest to catch as my targets. I'm still amazed at how small and clear the eyes are or the range of colours on some of them. I'm used to the fish, slamanders and eels being white or see through and the eyes being either huge or just not there at all.

I hadn't seen anything here to match the mudskippers that lived in higher up caves either. They were easy to catch when they came out of the water to move to a new puddle to mate. Not that I was too unhappy about not finding them, most of the mudskippers tasted like mud even with heavy seasoning. They were usually to be found on the markets in the Commons not in the Diamond Quarter. Nor was there anything that matched the glowfish that hunted in the large deep water caves by providing their own little bioluminescent lanterns. Vicious hunters they are with teeth that can punch through leather and with thick scales that can turn a knife aside. They were a delicacy that could cost a fair bit of gold.

I wade out of the water, settling onto the grass to both dry off and to clean the fish. I'm not too worried about being attacked, it's why I brought Alistair to keep an eye out.

"You're not squeamish about the eyes are you?" Alistair asks as he makes his way closer.

I hold up one of the heads that I've just taken off. "No, why?"

"Usually easier to just cook them with the heads on."

"Hmmmm. We always throw them back. There's enough meat on that for one bite for us tonight, or a full meal for tomorrow's dinner. What you take from the Stone, you should give back."

"I suppose that makes sense."

I hum and pass two of the still slippery cleaned fish up before washing my hands and blade. Alistair has the look of one who's not happy but also not willing to say anything as he gingerly takes them.

I pull my trousers on and jam my feet into my boots, my socks are pushed through my belt. "Come on," I say as I scoop the third fish up and head back towards the sheltered little nook we'd found to set up camp in.

"Find anything?" Faren asks as he stirs the contents of a small battered cooking pot he had... Borrowed from Flemeth. I should be more concerned about the brands wandering fingers, but right now I'm eternally grateful for them. Travelling without any shelter from the weather isn't nice, but at least we have more than just spit roasted food.

"Not a clue what they are, but aye." I say as I put the fish onto a clean patch of grass and settle beside them. "I figure we can have whatever you're making now and bake these up for tomorrow."

"They're trout," Alistair says as he gratefully puts the fish down next to me "and I like the thought of having a good breakfast for once." He wasn't the only one, I was getting tired of having to hunt for our first meal of the day on route and with an empty stomach. 

"Oh, they'll do nicely." Faren says as he peers at them. "Stone, fish grow big out here. And they're orange inside." I laugh. I'd thought exactly the same thing when I cut the first one open. I grab a decent looking rock and settle down to scrape away the greenery off it so I can start baking the fish.

"No! That. But. You can't!" I blink at Alistairs flailing as the human points at something. It's not in my direction so it's clearly Farens turn to deal with whatever has upset him this time. I dutifully ignore the flailing and half formed words. "Those are poisonous!" Perhaps it is my problem, I don't fancy being poisoned, what new surface disaster is about to strike us this time? I try to peer round Alistairs legs to see what exactly is the problem.

"Morrigan let me know which ones would make you ill before she vanished, so don't worry, only human edible ones are in the pot." Faren is entirely unconcerned which has me settling back down. The good sense of a dwarf, even one that was a brand is far better than a humans apparent lack of sense. As evidenced by the continued panic and high pitched tones.

"Right, but you ate one of those ones?" I hadn't thought it was possible for Alistairs voice to actually get any higher. I wasn't happy to be proven wrong. Nor, from the wince, was Faren.

"Yes. It's just a mushroom."

Oh. Is all I can think. Alistair is panicking over mushrooms. Stone preserve him from utter foolishness. Wasn't it common knowledge up here that most mushroom based poisons would have no effect on a dwarf unless they were mixed with something else? Mushrooms are one of the easiest things to grow underground.

I move over to wedge the rock in beside the fire and prop the fish up to start cooking. While I'm there I look over the meat skewers already crackling away. Faren must have caught them while mushroom hunting. They'll go nicely as a starter while they wait for the stew to finish cooking. I turn them so the other side can go nice and crispy. It's a pity they're missing some of the spices to really add some flavour to these, they tend to be a little bland on their own. I've yet to find anything similar to the spices they harvest underground though. The moss up here all seems to be tasteless greenery and there's such a variety of plants he wouldn't know where to start with which ones of those are edible.

Silence settles for a while, broken only by Faren munching on the poisonous to humans mushroom stash that hasn't gone in the pot and my tending of the fire. I pull one of the skewers off the fire, letting it cool before taking a cautious bite. Crisp shell with a cooked but still slightly gooey centre. Perfect. I pass one to Faren who takes it with a free hand, absently munching as he stirs the bubbling pot. Alistair takes the one that he's offered before yelping and tossing it away from himself as he takes several steps away from the fire.

I rescue it from the flames before it's ruined and put it to one side. "I take it this is another human thing?" I ask as I happily crunch my way though the legs on my own. 

Alistair huffs. "You're eating spiders!"

I share a look with Faren, for once entirely united in our thinking. How do humans survive? They have so much food around and yet they refuse to eat most of it.

"More for us." Faren finally shrugs, holding out his now empty stick to be replaced with the one Alistair rejected.


	14. 9:30 Dragon, 3 Drakonis, Ferelden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When in Ferelden... isn't having a dog mandatory?

"You could ride him." Alistair says, backing away very quickly when the lip curls back and a low growl fills the air. Those are very, very big teeth. I eye the darkspawn the dog just ripped apart. Which I am all for, less darkspawn is good. I'd rather it not also try to rip me apart. I'm sure his teeth would go right through the hardened leather I'm wearing.

"No riding eh. I wouldn't know how to anyway." I say in what I hope is a soothing voice as I hold out a hand like I did back in Ostagar while praying to the Stone that the dog doesn't bite me. When the only response is a head tilt I add a, "good boy." Teeth snap closed just before my hand and I pull it back with a soft curse.

"Good girl?" Duran tries, apparently on a whim and the Mabari woofs happily, the little stump of a tail wagging back and forth so hard its entire back end is shifting.

"Sorry love." I say, the kennel master hadn't mentioned she was a female dog. "Are you sure she'll stay?" I ask Alistair again. Not that I entirely doubt him, just the first time I saw a Mabari was at Ostagar, I wants to make sure I'm remembering the information I was told then correctly.

Alistair nods. "She's chosen you. One of you. Both of you?" He throws his hands up. "Whichever. You're going to be stuck with her."

"Woof!"

"Hey, I didn't say it was a bad thing."

"Woooof. woof."

"No, I'm sure you'll be a very welcome addition to our darkspawn hunting party."

Duran raises an eyebrow and I have to wonder if the human is completely all there in the head. Unless this is a Ferelden thing; maybe they can talk to dogs? "Does she have a name?"

"If she did she can't tell us." Alistair says, and there goes the theory that Fereldens can speak to them. "Her old handler must have died."

"Amgarrak." Duran says abruptly.

The Mabari tilts her had to one side, a soft huff escaping her. I think that head tilt might be her way of asking a question. Maybe that's how Alistair can talk to her. Maybe Fereldons are taught to recognise dog body language. Kind of like how any dwarf going into the tunnels will learn deepstalker language so you know when you need to fight or run from the little pests. Like knowing the difference between a lashing tail -angry- and a quivering tail -excited-.

"Amg- means something like 'one who performs' or 'one who does', arrak means 'to win' so together they mean victory." Duran explains.

"Woof!" She bounces round Duran before putting her paws up onto his shoulders to lick his face.

"Glad you like it." Duran says in between licks as he tries to push her away. "Come on, get off."

"How the fuck do you know that?" I mutter as the Mabari settles back onto all four paws.

"Shaper taught remember." Duran says. "Just because I didn't like book learning didn't mean I couldn't."

"Huh. So do we need anything special to care for her?" I ask as I gesture them to start moving again. Lothering is a long walk away and it would be nice to get there sooner rather than later.

"A collar or harness. A tag with her name and yours so people know she's bonded. If you go outside Ferelden you'll probably need a leash if you take her into any estates or anything."

Amgarrak growls.

"Hey, we Fereldens know you don't need one. Not my fault Orlesians are stupid." Alistair says

The teeth are put away again and she makes a hacking sound.

"Yeah, I quite agree."

I'm starting to think that the kennel master made an understatement when he said they were intelligent.

"Oh. We've aquired a second dog. Wonderful" I turn my laugh into a cough as the Witch steps back onto the path. Amgarrak barks happily and bounds forwards, sniffing at the bushes, and from behind I hear a sullen query.

"Was she insulting me or complimenting the Mabari?"


	15. 9:30 Dragon, 4 Drakonis, Lothering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're the last Wardens. They're starting a new life (being hunted for a masacre they didn't commit). Some find it easier to move on than others.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask as I look down at Duran where he's perched himself on a fallen tree trunk. He shifts in a sort of helpless shrug and one sharp nod is his only response. He doesn't even open his eyes, the hands in his lap clenched into fists, tension clear in every line of his body. He might be sure it's for the best but he clearly doesn't want to go through with it.

I have no idea how I've gone from being the lowest dirt on Duran's boot to being trusted to hold a knife near his throat. Was it on the long march from Orzammar to Ostagar? Perhaps it was in the battle when I took control and ran towards what needed doing and left him no choice but to follow? Maybe it was in the first confusing days after that as we limped away from a battle that had gone so badly wrong we couldn't list everything.

Whatever the answer it doesn't change that we're camping in a small clearing with no supplies beyond what I managed to lift from Flemeths hut. Lothering is close by but neither of us is ready to enter a human town as dusk falls and exhaustion nips at our heels. We should have been here last night, but darkspawn don't understand timetables and schedules. If something were to happen now the only one of us that could fight is the mabari. Alistair is already asleep, curled into a miserable ball at the base of a tree. He thought we should continue on but wasn't willing to leave us when we refused. The Witch has vanished into the woods again and I've long since given up trying to keep track of her.

Duran stiffens even further, jaw clenching as I take hold of the first braid in my hand and pass the knife cleanly through it. This is practical. He knows that, yet there are some things harder to let go than others. Especially for one who rests part of their identity on material things. Another braid hits the floor and he twitches before settling again. He wants to tell me to stop, I can tell. Yet there are no attendants here, no time to braid hair every morning and no gold to spend on even the simplest clasps when we barely have enough coppers to buy food. If we can find anyone selling food that is. We're hardly the only people on the road heading north, away from the growing darkness in the South. It wouldn't be so bad if it was just myself and Duran, neither of us are picky, but the mabari eats a fair bit and Alistair isn't fond of some of the things we've cooked up. Apparently beetle stew is not a food humans are willing to eat.

I smooth the roughly cut hair out as I go, teasing out the remaining tangles easily now it's barely a finger length long and Duran leans backwards against my legs, slowly relaxing. I don't think he's realised he's doing it as his breathing starts to slow from the tense not quite a panic rhythm he started at when I put blade to hair. I continue to work, evening the cut out as best I can with a larger blade. I need to pick up a new eating knife in Lothering, they're much better for trimming hair than a knife that's made to be stuck in somebody so maybe I'll be abke to neaten it up even further later.

He almost unbalances when I step away, giving me a startled look before slowly reaching up to run a hand over his head. There's a myriad of emotions on his face as I kneel in front of him. A strange mix as the old prince and the new exile still war with each other; shame and sadness matched with a grim determination. I don't truly understand, even if I know what this means. Hair means little in dust town, we have no braids to call our own, and even if we did, would anyone wear them? It's a lot of effort to keep them clean and well maintained, that's time that could be spent trying to find coin. For him though, I'm removing one of the last links he still has to Orzammar, to his family and name. His mind knows they aren't his any more but the heart holds onto things it shouldn't and only a lifetime of loss will harden that.

His eyes meet mine for a moment before he tilts his head backwards to let me work on his beard, his eyes firmly closing as he tries to ignore what I'm doing. It's not working too well as I can see the faint shake of his shoulders but I can politely pretend I'm seeing nothing. He won't appreciate meaningless platitudes anyway and I'm not one to give them out.

I say nothing when I'm done, ignoring the shine of unshed tears in his eyes as he stiffly gets to his feet, a soft nod all the thanks I'll receive as he turns to where he put his pack and curls up, his back away from me. I settle to keep watch on a log facing outwards, the mabari curled at my feet as I stare into the gathering darkness. I barely realise I've gathered the cut braids, slowly teasing the remaining baubles out until I have a small pile balancing beside me on the log (some habits are hard to break) and the hair itself is smoking and flaring in the glowing embers of the remains of the fire. I gather the beads into my pouch because you never know when you might need a little more coin and these are good quality cut stones, they'll keep us fed if nothing else.

There's a faint sound of a sob behind me, muffled in the gathering gloom and I can't help the bitter smile that crosses my face. The small part of me that still hates him for what he was is happy that he finally understands. The rest of me mourns with him for what is. There's no remaining link left to show that he was a proud prince of Orzammar; now he truly is an exile.


	16. 9:30 Dragon, 5 Drakonis, Lothering

I am audibly growling as I follow Duran between the houses to find somewhere secluded. Alistair took one look at us and said he'd be in the tavern. Amgarrak went with him, also apparently unwilling to choose between us. Morrigan is... Sod knows where Morrigan is. She comes and goes when she wants to.

"The fuck?" I growl out through clenched teeth as soon as we are between solid stone walls and nobody close enough to listen as we no doubt yell at each other.

"It is a Merchants right to set their own prices." He says.

I shake my head. Stubborn blind fucker. "High enough prices people starve when they need food to keep moving?"

"It's up to the customer to haggle for a better deal and if they dont like it go elsewhere." He sounds like he's reciting something he was told. Unquestioning fact set down in Stone and the very thought that I might not agree is making him as angry as I am.

"Go where? There's nowhere to sodding go." I at least have a reason to be angry. He walked past the refugee camp without even looking at them. Or no, he did look, once, then dismissed them as entirely unimportant. Like he would have looked at me if I hadn't caught Duncan's eye and been offered a chance at trying to join the Wardens. He smiles as I continue to fume, a patronising and self righteous smirk as he thinks he's right because that's simply how it is. "You went down to the Commons? How much does a small nug cost?" I need to explain to him why he's wrong, show him why it doesn't, shouldn't, work like that.

He looks confused for a moment before answering. "About twenty copper."

I smile sharply. "Not even fucking close. You're casteless now remember. Try about sixty. And that's if they even let you near the stall."

"Sixty? That's a rip off." He says with a grimace at my comment on his caste.

My smile gets wider. "It is isn't it? But you can't fucking complain, you got no say in the sodding cost. The merchant sets the prices." I slap a thigh when his brow furrows and he jumps.

"They raise the prices for casteless?"

I laugh. He steps back as I wave a hand at him. "That," I take a deep breath, "you gotta be kidding me." I manage to stop laughing for long enough to speak. "You didn't know? What, did you think us dusters all like stealing for the fun of it? Nah, we can't complain about the mark up and we can't afford it." I poke a finger into his chest. "Welcome to being lower than the leavings of a bronto."

"I didn't know that." He sounds so bewildered for a moment I take pity on him. Stone below, he'd have been eaten alive if his sentence had been branding and throwing into Dust Town. I'd have given him two nights, maybe three before he got a knife in him.

"Well, now you do. Bit late, but whatever." I say. "Nothing to be done about it now, why don't we go find Alistair, make sure he's not found any trouble?"

"Aye. A silver that somebody is trying to kill him." Duran says as we step out from between the houses and start to walk back through the village.

"Fools bet, I aint taking that." I smirk. "Would you like a... A something?" I hold up the red and green balls that I lifted while Duran was listening to the argument between the merchant and the refugees.

He stares at me for a long moment before sighing and plucking one out of my hand. "They're apples. Cost about a silver each in the Diamond Quarter."

"Huh. I've never eaten anything so expensive in my life." I mutter as I savour the taste. 

"They're probably only worth coppers up here. Before the blight started that is."

"Don't ruin it." I don't think I've tasted anything so sweet since I managed to lift a small bag of tarts that turned out to be made of red berries not the meat I was expecting.


	17. 9:30 Dragon, 14 Drakonis, Ferelden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wilds between Lothering and Denerim offers lots of time to talk and Faren starts to realise just how different their upbring is.

"You don't believe in the ancestors?" Duran sounds utterly perplexed by such a concept. The hand holding the stick he's whittling down going slack.

"No. Why should I?" I ask as I keep fletching.

"They see everything. They choose who is to be honoured and who is not." He says, putting the knife aside and using the stick to gesture as he speaks.

I put my own work down. This is going to be one of those conversations. The ones where he's been taught a load of nugshit by his caste. "No. The Stone sees everything. The ancestors are just a load of gangue made up to keep us dusters in our place and to give you fucking deep lords an excuse for killing each other. Do you not believe in your own skill? There's nobodies hand but your own guiding your weapon when you're in the arena."

"They don't need to make a show of it. Whoever wins is favoured."

"Duran. I fought in a proving and won. Does that not mean your ancestors favour me?"

"You're casteless. You can't fight in provings."

"Well then, why didn't your ancestors show their sodding disapproval and get me knocked out in my first fight? Why would they let me win?" Can't fight indeed. More like the lazy sods in the warrior caste didn't want to be shown up by us.

"I don't know." He says slowly, apparently considering the question. "I hadn't thought about it like that."

Silence falls over us both and he picks up the discarded knife, finishing up the stick he was working on before putting it on the pile beside me so I can add feathers to them.

Which is still a strange thing to be doing. I'm used to using nug leather to fletch with. Feathers are weird. And how they actually let birds fly escapes me entirely. They do work well though, both for the birds and for my quarrels so I'm not thinking on it too hard.

Actually, just using wood is strange on its own. Most of the arrows and quarrels are made of metal in Orzammar. There aren't that many archers to begin with, it's kind of expensive. Those of us casteless that take it up get very accurate, very quickly. It's either that or get good at lightening the parcels going from the Smith level to the warrior quarter.

"You know." Duran finally says. "Maybe the ancestors were making themselves known when you fought."

"Oh?" I say, curious as to how he's come to whatever conclusion he's thinking about.

"Maybe they were trying to show us that some of the casteless aren't invisible to the stone."

I have to stop myself from speaking too quickly there lest all I do is insult him. "You are aware that I have a strong Stone sense for rock and fractures, right? How could I be fucking invisible?"

He makes a noise of surprise and I realise we haven't actually spoken about our Stone sense before. "Well, that's what most of the castes think, so maybe this was the ancestors way of getting us to think about it."

Sodding stubborn bugger. I shake my head. "If that's how they try to tell you something is it any wonder nothing ever sodding changes?"

He falls silent again, the sound of his knife scratching over the wood the only sound between us. It's actually quite soothing. Reminds me of doing repairs on my armour back with Leske. At least it did for however long he'd remain quiet.

"My Stone sense tends to be for metals and minerals."

I let the topic change go without question. I don't want to ruin the fragile peace we've managed to make despite the many arguments we've had already. "No rock at all?" I know some senses tend to run in family lines, but I can't imagine not being able to feel the very rock you're walking on.

"A bit. Enough that I do miss it." He says. "There's veins of ores everywhere in Orzammar, they built the place there because it was so rich. I miss that more."

"Huh. I couldn't even tell you if there's gold two foot into a wall. I could tell you if it's fractured in any way I though."

"Yeah, I'm shit with that. There was one time I nearly walked out onto a ledge, back when I was first going out into the deep roads. I remember shouting at Gorim for daring to yank me back and onto the floor. I gave him a lot of leeway in private but I was furious that he would dare to do that in front of the other warriors when I was trying to impress them all with my fighting skills. He just let me shout and then tossed a loose rock at the ledge, entire thing just crumbled away. Spent the rest of the week being very quiet and thankful that my Second liked me enough to not let me fall into lava."

"He had good stone sense then?"

"Very good. He could find his way round the deep roads with a blindfold on. If he said we were going the wrong way then we were going the wrong way."

I laugh at that. "That reminds me of a friend of mine. His sense of direction was absolutely shit. The amount of times we got lost until I learnt that he was just very good at pretending to know where to go. He had more of a type sense, could tell what sort of rock was around."

"That's a rare one. The miner's often complained they didn't have enough children to teach stone masonry too."

I almost ask him how he'd know what the miner's complain about before realising it no doubt came up in the Assembly at some point. "Well, there's plenty of casteless that could have useful senses. Would it really be that bad to adopt the children into a caste and teach them? I didn't commit any crime other than having a casteless surfacer who snuck in one time as a father. Get them young enough and they won't have started trying thieve for food either."

"I suppose." He says, "like the rumour that went round about letting casteless fight in the armies. No one ever claimed it, but the rumoured proposal was to let any second generation, or more, casteless fight. If they survived for a number of years then our ancestors must be showing that their ancestors crimes had been paid for and they could become warrior caste themselves."

"That's fucking clever." I say after a moment. "You get a free fighting force to throw at darkspawn and you have a nice little explanation for any deep lords who oppose it."

He shrugs lightly. "It does seem like that now. I wasn't quite as happy to hear it before."

"You opposed it didn't you?"

Duran shrugs again. "The only casteless I'd seen were criminals being dragged in for their hearings. I didn't think about why most of them were criminals. I couldn't imagine trusting one of them to protect my back instead of just lighten my pockets."

I can't fault him for his honesty there. "Without the incentive they probably would be lifting anything they could, but the chance to have a caste again? That'd keep a lot of the dusters I knew in line."

"Well, not like it'll ever happen any time soon. Father was violently opposed to the idea."

"Perhaps, if he keeps losing ground maybe he will."

Duran snorts. "You know you call me stubborn? Father's worse."


	18. 9:30 Dragon, 29 Drakonis, Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denerim. Jewel of Ferelden. Duran certainly made a good first impression.

"They're pretty"

I shake my head as I peer round Leliana and take the polished stone from her hand with a soft snort of derision as I hold it up to the light. "Also worth nothing."

"I'll have you know they are the finest..."

"...Cut glass." I finish over the merchants strident protest. I might be getting used to being looked down on even if all I want to do is cut some of the humans down so that they're at my height and let them know that I'm not a thief, a charlatan, a beggar or any of the other unpleasant expectations they seem to have of me. Faren never seems bothered, letting the comments roll over him without a word and I'm oft reminded that he's likely been hearing that since he was old enough to toddle The markets in the Commons would defend their stalls with a solid beating if they caught a brand stealing from them. I can't stand it though. I'm a customer and I expect to be treated like one.

In this case, I clearly know what I'm talking about and I won't let some two bit human merchant tell me about gems and what they're worth. I've handled hundreds of gems before, along with metals of all forms. I've worn most of them too, glittering points of light against fine mesh woven chain, gems bigger than these braided into my hair. I know the price they fetch in Orzammar and I know what they can get for them when they export them.

I pick up another, "so's this. And this." I ignore the merchants outraged squawk as I continue to root through his wares and separate the stones into three piles. I could separate them even further if I wanted to but that might be a step too far for the human as he's already turning as colourful as a vein of red steel.

"Here, these ones are worth what he's asking." It's a depressingly small pile that I push towards Leliana, "and these ones are flawed but still real." Another small pile. Then I glare up at the merchant, daring him to say a word. "The rest are cut glass and aren't even worth a copper."

"You're not actually going to listen to him are you?" The merchant ignores me, speaking, quite literally, over my head to Leliana.

"Easy." Faren's murmur is barely audible from behind and I tense under the hand that's holding me back. Even if I know Faren's right and we can't afford to get into a fight, it's just so annoying to be constantly sidelined just because I'm a foot shorter than anyone else.

"Yes. I am." Leliana says and I shoot the merchant a smug smile before I turn to follow Leliana as she moves on to browse another stall instead. Take that human. I can't help but look back and wink.

I'm quite sad I turned away as I miss the moment the human decides he's had enough of dwarves wrecking his business by pointing out his fraudulant claims. Faren obviously doesn't as I'm abruptly hauled out of the way of a fist.

"Fuck." Faren swears as I regain my balance and throw myself into the fight. Smaller does not mean less weight and the human hits the floor with a heavy thump. "Amgarrak no. Down." I faintly hear the command and laugh as I dodge a flailing hand and put my elbow into the humans gut. I follow it with a fist to the face and a knee to the mans privates. He curls up with a whimper and I am just getting up when I'm hauled away.

"Just what is going on?" A man dressed in the uniform of a guard is pointedly looking between me and the merchant.

I look at Faren. The damned brand just looks back and shrugs, his hand resting on Amgarrak's head, the hound still looking like she'd happily take a bite out of the worse for wear merchant. Some help he is. I don't do well interacting with people. I offend too many of them by trying to order them around. Still, if Faren's not going to answer I'll have to say something. "He didn't take well to me pointing out that the gems he is selling are mostly fakes." I say with a shrug.

"No they're not." The merchant says as he staggers to his feet, one hand still cupped rather protectively at his groin. Well, I do have armour on, that probably added a fair bit of force to the blow. "You're some carta thug, like all your sort. Just wanting to buy them cheap so you can sell them for a profit."

Now that is just downright offensive.

It's well worth the night spent in the jail to see the merchants eyes widen again.

Faren is less impressed as he pays the fine the next morning.

\-------------

I am really, really starting to hate this town. If this is what the humans call a capital...

Actually goal was quite nice. No mud and no rain. If one could ignore the smell of piss and mildew it was almost the best nights sleep I've had in a while. Might have helped that it is built underneath the main guard barracks. Not quite like sleeping under stone, but it was better than sleeping in a forest with only canvas between me and the outside world.

"Hey Duran."

My eyes narrow at the human merchant I am staring at and absently wave a hand at Faren. Whatever he wants can wait. I have a quest, I'm trying to get a good bargain here. Finally the human nods, though I can see the way his eyes are cutting to Faren and back again. One dwarf he probably thought he could fleece. Said dwarf having friends... Well he probably didn't want to be beaten up in an alleyway over a few coppers.

I hand the coins over, hooking the new waterskin to my belt, the last one had fallen afoul of an arrow. I'd been looking for one yesterday, before I got into that fight.

"What's up?"

"The sky. A few clouds. Possibly some water." Faren says with a smirk and I shake my head. "Nah, serious though, there's a merchant over there with a shield that has your old house on it. At least I think its yours, I didn't exactly learn them all."

Now that catches my attention and I follow Faren through the market without a protest when he starts to walk away. "Over there." He says, pointing out a stall.

I frown. I don't recognise the dwarven woman minding it. I do however see the shield propped at the back of the stall. A shield I do recognise and have seen before now. Have even held before now. It should still be in Orzammar, not in some backwater human shanty town they called a capital. I march over. "Where did you get that?" I demand, not letting the woman get any greetings out. I am so done with merchants today.

"None of your business." She replies, one hand resting on a hip as she stares me down. "Either you're here to buy something, and be polite about it, or you and your thug friend there can fuck right off."

"That shield belongs to House Aeducan." I point out, trying not to snarl at her.

"Oh well done, you know your houses." She replies with a tight smile and a heavy dose of sarcasm. "It's also not for sale so don't bother trying."

"You." I have to peel my hand off the hilt of my sword so i don't draw it and take a deep breath. "I will be taking it."

"Really?" She says.

\------------

There's a familiar figure leant over me. Red hair. Ridiculous mustache. Smirk. Raised eyebrow... "Hello Gorim."

The smirk widens. "Hello Duran. I see you've met my wife."

Behind me she gives me a wink as Faren sees to her knuckles.

I really sodding hate this town.


	19. 9:30 Dragon, 29 Drakonis, Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's found his Second, safe and well. Duran should be happy. He would be. If not for his Seconds wife who is just a little terrifying.

"Gorim love, take Faren and rescue our dinner from the oven. And set the table with extra places." Gorim backtracks, snagging Faren as he goes, all without a word of protest. Duran winces. That tone reminds him of his Aunt. When she was angry, which wasn't often thank all the Ancestors, even his own father would obey, King or no. The resemblance stops there thankfully. Gorim's wife is as burly as his Aunt is lithe and her hair is pulled back into a single braid, no gems to be seen. Accidentally calling her the wrong name would likely see him hit again and as he's already found out once today she has a solid right hand swing.

"You." The word is accompanied by a finger prodding into his chest and Duran takes a step back. She follows. "You are going to listen to me." He nods, unable to see any way out of doing otherwise, he's been abandoned and Faren wisely shut the door between them when they left.

"I have no idea how; I think you're an arrogant sodding deep lord who's not yet realised he's just another casteless bastard to anyone living underground, but my Gorim is still loyal to you. He's going to go with you."

"I wouldn't ask th..."

"You don't have to." She snaps out, eyes narrowing. "He'll go whether you ask or not. So I'm letting you know that you'll keep him safe or I will hunt you down and castrate you, feed you your own balls, then kill you." She smiles. "Am I understood?"

No wonder Gorim was taken with her in so short a space of time. She's no meek little gem. His Second always did prefer the stronger women even back in Orzammar. "I... Yes."

The smiles changes, a little warmth replacing the stone that was there a moment ago. "I'm glad we got that sorted." She holds out a small ceramic pot, a faint scent of flowers drifting out when she unstoppers it.

Duran raises a hand to touch his eye and she nods. He takes what seems to be a peace offering. "Thank you." He says as he applies the balm, sighing a little in relief when the dull throbbing recedes and he's able to do more than squint through that eye.

She takes the pot back and shrugs a little. "Shouldn't have tried to steal from me."

"Is it stealing if the item is mine in the first place?"

She snorts. "Maybe next time you should introduce yourself first. Then I'd have known it was yours."

"I. Well. You see. I still forget people don't know who I am." He mutters rather sullenly.

He doesn't expect her to burst out into laughter and he recoils, nearly smacking the back of his head into the wooden wall as she moves towards him. All she does is pat him gently on his cheek. "Oh, Stone bless, you're adorable."

He huffs, too tired to be properly angry. "Look, I'm trying, alright."

"And everything is just so different up here and you can't find any solid ground to stand on."

He almost asks what she would know about that before realising exactly how she'd know. He can't see that Gorim had it that much easier, to go from a Second to a member of the Royal family to an exile was almost as big a change. "Something like that."

"Come here." She drags him over to the battered looking chairs by the fire and pushes him down into one before settling herself. "There's a few groups up here that you need to be aware of."

"You mean Carta and Merchant Guild?"

"No. And yes. Stop interrupting." She twirls a lock of hair thoughtfully before pushing it back behind her ear from where it's escaped its braid. "I'm talking about caste and how us surface dwellers see it." She lifts a hand before he can tell her that he's well aware the surface has no caste anymore. "First, Kalna. They try to maintain their caste; most of them are Merchant Guild and are higher castes before they were exiled. At the opposite end you've got Progressives. Think caste shouldn't exist at all, lot of them try to ignore anything Dwarven, some of them even go as far as worshipping the Maker crap. Last you've got Moderates. Think caste should still exist but you should be able to choose your own caste given what you're good at."

"You're a Moderate aren't you?" He asks after a long silence and is rewarded by a smile.

"Correct. Which means; I don't give a damn that you were a Noble at one time. In my father's house you're a warrior, same as Gorim, same as your partner. I see you treating them otherwise you'll be finding somewhere else to sleep. Now come on, they should be finished setting up by now."

He follows her through the door, he's expecting a kitchen, not a twisting staircase. Turns out the wooden shack that's built onto the back of the Smithy is just for show, the real house is underneath. He can tell it's been expanded upon over time and he can't imagine the amount of Dwarven families that have called it home without the denizens of Denerim knowing they've got a little fortress built down here.. It has been lined with slabs of rock and brick that make him feel far more at ease than wood, or worse, canvas does.

"Survived did you?" Faren asks when they enter.

"Just about." He says before leaning towards Gorim when he comes past with a steaming bowl. "She's beautiful. Almost makes me want to chase women."

Gorim laughs, nearly upsetting the bowl he's carrying and they both endure the disapproving glare until it is safely delivered to the table.

\------------

Later as he stares up at the ceiling from his position on the rug in front of the fireplace he revises his previous comment. Beautiful yes. Also terrifying. His ear is still smarting. He didn't mean to make his request an order, it just sort of happened. He should probably be lucky she relented and didn't throw him out.

Beside him Amgarrak snorts and rolls over, all four paws in the air and Duran absently rubs her belly. If they knew how to conduct a joining they could induct her right now. The Archdemon might just fuck off without a fight to avoid her wrath.


	20. 9:30 Dragon, 5 Cloudreach, Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human owned and run taverns are lovely places. Except for the human bit of course.

I have never heard anything so horrible in all my life, and I've heard darkspawn screeching at night. This is just... I have no words to describe it.

"Do we have to stay?" Duran mutters beside me.

Gorim laughs. "Welcome to human music. It's terrible."

Beside him Leliana looks entirely insulted and is glaring at all three of us. It is easiest to just ignore her as I wasn't feeling in the mood for a lecture about being polite and forgiving and whatever Maker based crap it is today.

I would use some stronger words than terrible though. Fucking bronto shite, is more along the lines I am thinking. All those sodding high pitch screeches. It sounds like somebody has tuned their intrument about five times too high and then are trying to sing along to it.

Also. No drums. Not even one. How is anyone meant to know the beat without the drums? Every dwarf can play a basic beat on a drum, even the casteless and we use whatever we can as our drums. And I would bet either or both Gorim and Duran can do more than just the basics. I've heard the warrior caste a few times when I've slipped through the broken passageways into the Deep Roads to try and find food. The warriors use them to talk across distances when voices would get lost. "Hey Gorim, can warriors relay a full battle plan by drum?"

"Near enough. Why?"

"No reason. That," I point at the ear achingly bad quartet, "just got me thinking about dwarven music. Do you play anything?"

"Drum and voice." Gorim says.

Duran gives a vaguely whistful sigh. "Morin Khuur."

"Really?" Well colour me fucking impressed. I've always found them fascinating, when I snuck into the taverns in the Commons that had people playing them. The range of sounds that can come from just two strings is brilliant. And it has such depth, it seems to vibrate with the Stone itself. Nothing like the squeak from across the room that has nothing behind it.

"Yes, really." Duran said. "What are those things?"

"The bowed one is a fiddle, the ones being plucked are a gittern and a lapharp. Do you not have those in Orzammar?" She's shifted from being insulted to being curious.

I shake my head. "Lower pitch echoes better. We have drums and chants mainly, and some bowed instruments."

"The Stone remembers the songs." Duran said "It'll sing back if you're loud enough".

"The stone remembers? Are you sure that isn't just echoes." Leliana sounds sceptical and Duran just shrugs.

I nod, seeing both Gorim and Duran making the same motion. As if by presenting a united front we can make her believe us. "It sings. The Stone always knows." There are echoes and then there is the Stone. I may never have seen the great rooms dedicated to the memories as Duran has, but I know the Stone is real. Alive. I can feel it. It's been a huge part of my senses for so long coming to the surface felt like being cut off, like I'd lost my sight or hearing.

I was worried at first, the stories that surface dwarves lose their stone sense made me want to run back to the mountain and beg to be let back in. I didn't lose it though. The first cave we'd stopped to shelter in had felt a little like home. It wasn't truly deep, but it was enough that I could feel the weight above my head, could tell where there were cracks forming, where water ran through the gaps between stone.

I'd said as much at the time and Duran had shrugged. Said he didn't notice any of that unless he was much deeper, but he could sense a vein of amethyst deep in the rocks from near enough on the surface. That was something I couldn't separate out from the rock. I'd known the sense manifested differently for everybody, but it was Duran who pointed out that it often ran in families. Miners tended towards lyrium, Smiths towards metals. He and Trian had more of a sense for gems and precious metals. Bhelen had a strong lyrium sense. Strong enough he'd petitioned to join the Shapers at one point, Duran expected his father regretted not letting him take their oaths now. Shapers dropped all affiliation to their old House. I'd hummed, before saying that I was actually glad he hadn't or Duran wouldn't be along now. I didn't want to admit it but I'd be lost without another that understood just how frustrating and different the surface world was. Duran didn't seem to know whether to be annoyed or complimented at that, I knew would certainly prefer to still be in Orzammar.

I quickly went back to the discussion on Stone Sense rather than get into reminising about Orzammar again, it only ever made both of us melancholy. Apparently it was known, and he'd been told due to his position as a child of the King and potentially one who might take the throne, that the Sense only developed underground while they were children, and it wasn't something that faded while you were outside. It was also known that children born under the sky would never learn. It was one of the reasons the Deshyrs used to stop the surface dwarves from returning. Duran had said that with a frown marring his face as he explained, and he had given me a confused look as I let him work through something. being on the surface was certainly making him think about things beyond the simple response of; 'but that's how it's always been done'.

'If,' he had said with a frown, 'a returned surfacer had children underground their children would have the Stone Sense, same as anyone born after generations of parents under the Stone. So why turn them away?Orzammar needed new blood.'

I had agreed that the deep lords were all fools. If they couldn't see that their tradition was going to see them or their children dead then maybe they deserved to die. Let those who were not so foolish reclaim what they left behind.

"Well, I'll take your word for it." Leliana said, breaking me from my musing.

I shrug at her again. It isn't something I could explain. Stone Sense just was.

I notice she is humming the same song that is being sung on the other side of the tavern and sigh. Tonight is going to be a long night. Our contact that has a job for us better turn up soon.


	21. 9:31 Dragon, 5 Bloomingtide, Brecilian Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faren really doesn't like forests.

Forests. I despise sodding forests. This entire trip so far to find some elven clans for this treaty business can be summed up by the following exchange we had a few hours back:

"Faren."

I didn't dare turn my head so it's a good thing I could recognise Duran's voice, even through the rather strangled note it held. I took a nice deep breath of my own until I was sure my own answer would be steady. "Yes."

"Were we not told that trees didn't move?" He asks and I have to admire the calm tone he's got there.

"Yes." I distinctly recalled Duncan telling us that the first day out of the Stone.

"So why in the Ancestors names, is that tree moving?" He's still so calm. Unnaturally calm actually, as if this is nothing but a stroll through the Commons and the tree is just a loose nug wandering on by.

"Sod if I know."

That would be about the time the fucking tree noticed us. Still haven't figured out how a tree sees, but whatever. It saw us. Tried to kill us. We learnt a new craft. I decided to call it treehacking, no doubt humans and elves have fancy words for it. Killing trees isn't something we have to do in Orzammar, what with the distinct lack of trees, moving or unmoving.

It wasn't the only one either. We ran into at least three more really angry trees before we found the elves. Or they found us. Same fucking difference. They weren't too enthused with human visitors, but dwarves were apparently alright. in that they agreed to hear us out instead of filling us with arrows and leaving our bodies for scavengers. We left Gorim back at our camp, just in case they wanted anything else, we'd rather not leave one of the huamns to start a miniature war with them.

We presented the treaty, Duran said a lot of pretentious shit which all came to nothing because they had problems of their own. Which brings us to where we are now. Fighting yet another sodding tree in a bid to find a pack of werewolves and kill them too. I am so close to just setting the entire place on fire right now. In fact... The tree crashes to the ground with an earth rattling thud. I throw my crossbow strap over my shoulder and hunt through my pockets for my tinderbox. I refuse to fight another one of them, the next one is going down in flames. Why did Morrigan choose this time to go collect herbs elsewhere and agree to meet us back at our little camp and leave us to this, I know she can conjure fire. "Alright. Next one of you fucking leafy bastards to move, I will set alight."

"No need to be so hasty now, that I cannot allow." The voice comes from above us and contains a creaking groan that reminds me of the sound of branches swaying in the wind.

I take a deep breath. Apparently they talk too. If Duncan was still around I'd be having serious words with him.

I am so sodding done with this topside greenery.


	22. 9:31 Dragon, 8 Justinian, Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duran is a chatty drunk. Faren will remember that if he needs anymore heart to heart confessions out of him.

"I love learning new things about the surface."

I frown, shifting so I'm facing Duran. He's face down on his side of the bed which explains why he sounded so muffled. I poke a finger into his side and he ineffectually raises a hand to flap it in my direction.

"What things?" I ask, curiousity overcoming my need to sleep. If I leave it now he won't remember what he was talking about in the morning.

"Topside has walking skeletons." He says, tugging the pillow down a little.

"I hadn't noticed." I replied, my voice flat. It wasn't as if we'd nearly been over run by a whole horde of them last night. Redcliffe wasn't even a town. Just a tiny village who's only interest was it being near to the castle we need to visit. How in the name of the Stone did the one village we wanted to get a nights rest in before continuing be the one with a night time skeleton horror show?

"You kept the militia together well. You'd have made a great Commander." Duran says without any warning, the sentence punctuated by a yawn.

I reach out a hand and pat his nearest shoulder. "Uh-uh. And I'm a bronto's arse. How much did you have to drink?" Because that right there isn't just grudging acceptance that's outright admiration and approval, and fuck if I'm going to believe that.

"Only four. Or five." He says through a bigger yawn. "I'm not drunk."

"Go to sleep Duran." I say with another pat before I settle back onto my side of the bed. Not that it matters that I try and stay to just half. Duran is... clingy. With the having to huddle together for warmth until we could get hold of a new tent after Ostagar and then keeping coin down by sharing rooms as we travel I've got used to the fact that I'll wake up half underneath him and he doesn't let go easily.

I recall the look on Gorim's face when I tried to switch out with him after he joined us. I've never seen a warrior caste back up quite so quickly. He assured me he'd be fine sharing with one of the others and all but fled. He had clearly had experience of sleeping Duran.

Still, the thought of me as a Commander. The higher castes wouldn't even lift a finger to follow my orders... Except Gorim and Duran are.

"Duran." I prod his nearest arm.

"Wha?"

"What do you mean I'd make a great Commander?"

"Can't this wait till morning?" He asks.

"No." I say firmly. 'By the morning you'll be sober again', is what I don't add. If I'd known tipsy Duran was a chatty Duran I'd have plied him with cheap booze several towns back.

He rolls over to face me and blearily stares. "Commander should be able to change plans in the middle of the battle, you do that."

"That's easy." I say. Any old fucker could do that, surely. "Shouldn't a Commander be able to do all the strategy shit and troop movements and remembering where armies are?" That's the hard bit, too many numbers and names.

"That's what tacticians are for. They do that for you."

"So, what? You're my tactician?" I say with a quick grin and he reaches one hand up to pat my shoulder as he nods. I almost think he's falling asleep again before I hear him speak again.

"Tell you a secret." He says leaning close enough that I can feel his breath tickling my shoulder. "I hated being a Commander. Was what was expected though. Father brought Trian up to rule, me to be the Commander and Bhelen to be the strategist." He laughs slightly as he puts his head down on my shoulder. "We were all shit. I'm the strategist, Bhelen should be the one in line for the Throne and Trian was the Commander."

"I see." I say, carefully taking note of the tenses he used for his siblings.

"Bhelen did good." He says burrowing closer to me. "Didn't see it coming."

"Bhelen got you exiled?" I ask quietly. It's the one story I've never gotten out of him. All he's ever said before is that he had a political falling out and lost.

"Framed me for killing Trian." I can feel my brows raise. That can't have been easy. Too many variables to make sure are all in place at the right time or the entire scheme falls apart. Which now I think about it is exactly what Duran has described politics as. "I can't decide whether I hate him or love him," Duran continues and I gently run a hand through his hair. "It was so perfectly done."

"He got you exiled." I point out. "I'd say that qualifies for hate."

"He could have had me killed along with Trian. Tragic accident where we take each other out but he didn't." He leans into my hand and I almost pull away before giving in and continuing to pet him. His breathing has almost evened out into sleep when he speaks again. "Glad he didn't, wouldn't have met you if I'd been dead."

I am, as usual, not sure if that's meant to be a compliment or not. By the time I think I've worked it out Duran's asleep, arms tight round my waist as he uses my shoulder as a pillow. I may have to revisit this conversation sometime with sober Duran. For now I may as well get some sleep, I'm clearly not going anywhere else.


	23. 9:31 Dragon, 26 Solace, Honnleath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faren couldn't say no to Duran and Gorim when they'd mentioned detouring for a hunk of walking rock. It's not what he was expecting.

"I've always wanted a Golem." Duran says as we stand out of the way while Alistair talks to the humans we've just acquired the Goelm's activation key from. They didn't seem happy to be talking to Dwarva. Although that might be more that I threatened to stab one of them more than it is the fact that we're Dwarves.

"Yeah?" I ask, that seems like a strange thing to want.

"What child wouldn't want one?" I give him a long hard look until he shifts uncomfortably. "Right, yes. Sorry." Sometimes working with Duran is like taking several strides forwards and then a few steps back. He's getting better at not being intentionally rude though.

I give him a smile, reaching out to pat him on his back. "I suppose it would have been fun to imagine. Can't say I didn't sometimes want to picture Beraht's place going up in flames and the fucking cunt himself just slowly roasting to death."

Duran snorts. "And here I just wanted to have a Golem so I could terrorise my brothers."

"Who's terrorising brothers?" Alistair asks and I point at Duran who just shrugs.

"I was the middle brother. It was my duty to be a pain in the ass for Trian and a bad example for Bhelen." His voice remains light and friendly - I can still see the faint clench of muscles in his jaw when he mentions their names though. Alistair doesn't seem to pick up a thing, months in my company have still taught him nothing about masks. Nor about guarding his pockets, he's far too easy to rile up by being presented with his own belongings every evening. All the rest have found ways to wear their money pouches in places I can't easily get to. Except Leliana, but she's almost as good at lifting stuff as I am and it's more of a game between us now.

"I was an only child." Alistair says.

Duran gives a lopsided shrug as we start to head back towards the surface. "They were more trouble than they were worth." Taking that alongside the revelation a few weeks back in Redcliffe and I'm hard pressed not to laugh. Not having brothers would have solved his exile issue nice and easily.

"I can't really imagine what having them would be like." Alistair says. "I suppose that's just part of life isn't it, wanting what we can't have?"

"You mean like the fact I don't fucking want a Blight anymore?" I cut in.

"That would be nice. We could all head to Antiva and spend days lounging around in the sun and drinking tropical fruit juice."

"And getting our throats cut if Zev's stories are anything to go by." I point out.

"Yes, well, that would put a bit of a damper on the holiday spirit wouldn't it."

"Hire a... what do they call them..." Duran hums in thought, "Mortalitasi."

Alistair laughs and I raise an eyebrow. "What did I miss?" I ask as I open the door to let them filter back out into the always too bright sunlight.

"Death magic. They can create Walkers." Duran says.

"It's not something taught in Ferelden Circles." Alistair says. "At least, not officially. You'd have to go to Tevinter to find one."

"I've already got an assassin who calls herself a Bard, an assassin who's quite happy to be called an Assassin, a Qunari who I still haven't figured out, a mage who is more likely to kill one of us than darkspawn at this point. Last think I need is a Mortali-whatever-it-was." I give Alistair a smirk. "Oh, I also have you."

His protest makes me laugh as I dance out of the way of the shield he gently swings my way. "On a more serious note, can you go let Gorim know we're going to try to animate that thing and make sure Amgarrak doesn't come up here. Last thing I need is flattened wardog."

"Will do." He says, jogging off to where Gorim and Amgarrak were guarding our packs. I exchange a glance with Duran and he falls in beside me as we make our way up to the Golem.

"Here goes nothing, I suppose." Duran mutters as I pull the control rod out of my belt and speak the word we'd been given.

There's a beat of silence as the rod warms under my hand and then it starts to move, stone grating over stone like a scattering of pebbles down a scree slope. "It knew the day would come when somebody would find its control rod and the reactivation key." The voice that emanates from the Golem is deep and grating, with an odd accent that I can't quite place.

"Ancestors preserve us." Duran says, suprise lacing his tone.

I take a moment before deciding that's probably the right emotion. "Sodding fuck." I say as I run my eyes over the mix of rock, metal and embedded crystals before tilting my head at the faint sense of lyrium I can discern. Being topside is likely the only reason I can feel that, it'd be lost amongst the lyrium that laces the halls of Orzammar.

"And which of you should It be addressing?"

"Me, I guess." Taking half a step forwards. Up close I can see gouges in the stone that make up the Golem. It seems smaller than I imagined now it's not frozen in a position with it's limbs outstretched, as if the topside weather has worn away at it the same way it erodes the rock up here.

It makes a sound that might be a hum, it grates across the ears as I wait for it to say anything.

"Do you have a name?" Duran asks when nothing is forthcoming.

"It is called Shale."

"Shale. Fitting." Duran says with a half smile.

"I'm Faren." I say. "He's Duran. The other dwarf keeping an eye out over there is Gorim, the human is Alistair and the dog's Amgarrak."

"A dog. Wonderful." The Golem's head follows the direction of my gesture and while it's expression doesn't change the amount of sarcasm in its tone is impressive.

"She's a Mabari. They're very intelligent." Duran points out. This isn't the first time we've had people take offense at her presence and just assume she's one of the dumb hounds we see out with the shepherds.

"As long as it doesn't intend to cock its leg in my direction I'm sure we'll get along just fine."

"I'll make sure to tell her that."

"Indeed. It will therefore be careful when moving around to not accidentally squish it."

"Isn't this what the control rod's for?" Duran asks me in a not quite whisper. I shrug, holding out the item in question. I figure he'll have more of an idea on how it works.

"Well, go on." The Golem says, and if not for the fact that it's a Golem I'd say it is bracing itself.

"It is...broken?" It says after a moment.

"Huh." Duran says, glaring at the control rod for a moment before sighing and shoving it into his pack. "Inconvenient." He grumbles before glancing up, "for us that is."

"Just our sodding luck." I mutter. Just when I thought we'd gotten a break, turns out that no, our luck is still shit.


	24. 9:31 Dragon, 3 August, Magi Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duran is done with the Fade. So utterly done.

"Save the mages, he said. It's not their fault they have magic, he said.

I agreed to save the ones that weren't, how did the Templar put it; giving in to their fears and drawing demons out of the Fade to help themselves and turning into abominations.

Abominations. That's one way of putting it I suppose. A melding of shade and flesh to create... That. And this is why Dwarva generally burn their dead. Bones that are left to rot can be reanimated by shades if they're found soon enough. Or worse, they are buried deep in the rock and the shade that joins them can become stuck in the Stone. They poison it, leaving a patch of sickness that any Dwarva with even a small amount of Stone sense can pick up on. When we find patches like that we dig it out. You have to release the shade to remove it from the rock.

Either way though it's either a reanimated skeleton or a shade. It's not. whatever a melding of living human or elf and shade becomes. No wonder the Templars wanted to raze the Tower. Surely any mages left in there are now talking to demons to try and protect themselves from those who've already given in. A steady spiral until all that's left is demons and death.

Still, Faren wanted to try and save any that might have survived. I couldn't deny him that could I? So we were to do a quick sweep for any mages still hiding, get them down to the Templars and then we can go destroy what's left.

It was all going so well, I suppose I shouldn't have expected our sort of luck would remain that good. We just had to run into something that tried to enchant us. I think that's the right term. Bah, what do I know of magic?

And that's why we're here."

"Woof."

"Yes. It is indeed."

"Woof?"

"How am I meant to know. Dwarva don't dream. This is new for me too." I say as I look around the slightly off world I'm walking in. Same not quite right world I've been wandering through for the past, however long it's been. Minutes, hours, it all feels the same. An endless breath that never ends.

Finding Amgarrak was a stroke of luck. I'd hoped coming across Leliana, Alistair and Faren would be just as easy, but to no avail. I'm still searching, wandering through a silver/green mist that seems to be wavering between familiar pillars of Orzammar and the bare stone walls of the Magi Tower. Even without looking around it feels just wrong enough I feel nauseous. It's like feeling gangue in the rock. It's wrong and there's no way to describe to somebody who hasn't felt it why or how it's wrong, just that it is.

"Come on, we better keep moving." 

"Woof!" Her butt stays firmly attached to the floor.

"I'm sure we'll find them eventually."

She sighs and trots after me. I just hope I'm right. They have to be here somewhere. I just have to work out where. "You know I'm almost getting the feeling this thing isn't used to Dwarva and doesn't have a clue where to start in making a dream trap sort of thing for us." I poke at another pillar, my hand wafting through the mist until it sprays out like water frozen in a single moment. This is ridiculous. I just want to find Faren, he's probably just as lost.

"Woof!"

"I can see it." I say, staring at the door. Broad enough for three armoured Dwarva to pass through together without getting stuck. Covered in scrawling inscription inlaid with silver, the pillars the two sides are hinged on are filled with a geometric design in gold and silverite. It wouldn't be out of place in the Diamond Quarter. It very much is out of place here, just sitting in the middle of the corridor, you can go round it without any trouble. I circle round, the same mist and endless tunnels is all that greets me. Perhaps the most important fact is that it wasn't there a moment ago.

I give it a push, it swings open easily and I narrow my eyes at the room beyond. What in the Ancestors name is going on? A room full of things, even if they are stuck to the walls and the ceiling, has to be better than mist and shadows. I step through, bringing my shield up as Amgarrak jumps through and the door swings shut behind us.

Something impacts my shield and I brace myself, scanning round to find... "Faren?"

"Duran!" He steps towards me, crossbow lowered. "Sorry. Fuck am I sodding glad to see you."

"I've been wandering round in the middle of nowhere for who knows how long until that door appeared." I say as I frown at the quarrel embedded in my shield.

"Yeah, same fucking thing happened to me. I ran into Alistair, he explained a bit about how this place works. Even if he isn't a mage he learnt it for when he was becoming a Templar. Found Leliana a while back."

"I just ran into Amgarrak, she's just as confused as I."

Faren hums and kneels down to rub her head. "The trick is apparently in knowing that you're dreaming, all you have to do is wake up."

Amgarrak tilts her head, ears pricked.

"You need to wake up girl." She disappears in a swirl of mist and Faren stands up. "Problem is: we don't seem to have the same ability to just step out of a dream. Same way we don't step into a dream."

Of course, why would it be so easy. "I'll take a guess, we need to find whatever dragged us in here and convince it to let us go?"

Faren sweeps a hand towards the door that's wavering in place on the other side of the room. "However did you guess." He waggles the hand that's pointing. "Oh, and look what we can do here." The fireball that appears and rolls across the room in a haze of heat and smoke makes me step back, sword and shield up. "You made a door appear. Just imagine what you want to do and it'll happen, as long as it's not too big a thing."

Really now. I smile. That abomination is going to get a nasty surprise by the time we find it - neither one of us is lacking in imagination.


	25. 9:30 Dragon, 2 Kingsway, Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heading back to Orzammar. Duran's got this. Honest.

I was expecting something bigger, some awe inspiring stonework or statues. Even just a huge door. Instead it's a nearly plain cut entranceway with slabs of rock that have only the most basic carving on them. Of course, it is still finer than the stonework in any human settlement we've passed through.

When this was cut it was no doubt as a simple surface exit for trade, Orzammar after all was a mining and smithing centre before it became the capital. I'd expect the entrance to Kal-Sharok to be much grander, befitting what used to be a capital city. Maybe one day, if we survive the Blight we can go an see. We're not constrained by the same rules as we were before.

The plainness does make for less of an impact as we approach. Although, maybe that's a reason surface attacks haven't happened, if they see that and think all our halls are built on a similar theme. What wealth to be had from that?

We head up the steps, the guards eyeing us with suspicion as we get closer. As they should. Any dwarves approaching from the surface are suspicious. Only a dispensation from the Assembly, and therefore the Ancestors can allow surface travel and return without being branded. The guards themselves wear rank knots that show they can return below. The surface guards are well respected in the warrior caste as they provide a service that most would not want to do. Making sure the same number of merchants leave as entered and making sure only merchants that have the proper credentials can enter are important jobs. Or so most of the Stoneborn believe. As I used to believe. I'm starting to think that there may be truth in the thought that it is the growing up under stone and near lyrium which activates the Stone Sense. So letting surfacers in, those that weren't exiled for crimes of their own would give us a bigger population come the next generation.

"Faren Brosca, Grey Warden." Faren says, holding up his token that was made back in Ostagar. The guard doesn't look happy to have to let us in, but unfortunately for him, we are one of the other groups that have dispensation from the Assembly to return. He hides it well though, instead using the fact we get to pass to snub the humans who are trying to gain access.

"Where did you find a golem outside of the deep roads?" He asks once the humans have retreated.

Faren shrugs lightly. "In a human settlement. It's been a great asset."

"Don't suppose you'd care to accidentally squish that lot would you?" He asks as he signals the doors to be opened for us.

"Could It?"

"No." Faren says quickly.

"Is It sure?"

"If they're still here when we leave and make trouble, sure, you can squish them then."

The guard chuckles as we enter. "Do me a favour and leave quickly." He mutters before the door swings shut behind us.

The tunnel down is long and winding. The angle and turns cut to allow wagons to travel with as little danger as possible. It's dark too. A familiar dark once my eyes adjust. There's alcoves with small pools dotted along the way, each pool growing it's own selection of luminescent mosses. There's also lanterns burning, no doubt a concession for non dwarven eyes as the moss alone puts out enough light to see by.

The journey is mostly silent, no doubt each of them are also thinking about what we'll find, who we might see. It's why I've got a full faceplate on, I have no wish to speak to some of the dwarves we will no doubt be meeting, and then there are others who no doubt expect me to have taken secrets to an unmarked grave in the Deep Roads. They'd be very upset to see me still alive and I don't want to deal with stopping knives from appearing in my back.

"Felt longer going the other way." Gorim says, his own voice muffled by a helmet for much the same reason as myself, as we finally reach the next set of doors and wait for them to open. Beyond these we're in Orzammar. I'm not sure if I'm ready yet. If not for the fact I'd never leave Faren to wade through the political nugshit on his own I'd tell him I'll wait here. There's plenty of nice calm spots in the alcoves with the statues of past Paragons. I could hide behind one of them like I used to occasionally when I was a child and avoiding whatever political function father thought I should attend.

"Is it a good thing it's shorter coming in?" I asked Gorim when Faren stopped to talk to Shale.

"Less time to think about things I suppose." He mutters back and I nod, shrugging my shoulders to resettle my armour. I can certainly agree with that sentiment.

There's no time to answer as the doors are pushed open and we enter the Commons. It's... There's no words to truly explain it. It's home. Not like the humans who can make any house a home. This is the weight of stone, the feel of gems and metals that just doesn't exist up above. The people here I could live without, and the castes and the rules. But the weight of the Stone. I know I won't want to leave again. To return to the surface and it's lack of weight.

I come to a full stop, one hand twitching towards my blade. Why? Why is the first thing I see Bhelen. Of all the dwarves in Orzammar, he has to be out in the Commons. I want to laugh at them both. Bhelen worked so hard to get rid of myself and Trian, did he forget the other houses? And Pyral, waiting till the last moment before putting himself forwards, as there was never a whisper of him being even potentially in line for the Throne before my exile. Politics.

I can see Faren twitch as one of Harrowmonts men is downed before the Captain of the guard in the Commons breaks them up. "And they say us Dusters have no honour." He mutters before squaring his shoulders.

Before we get too close to anyone I mutter, "maybe we should put Bhelen, Pyral and some of their most ardent supporters in the Proving Arena and let them fight it out."

Faren looks back, a smirk settling on his face before he heads for the Guard. "I wish." Floats back to me. No doubt it would have been easier than untangling the political mess the Nobles have ended up in. And it'd be a lot more satisfying.


	26. 9:30 Dragon, 2 Kingsway, Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faren just wants to get this dealt with. Of course it would never be so easy as just picking a candidate.

Welcome to Orzammar. Ha. Now it certainly feels like home. Sure the brawlers were wearing finer clothes than I'm used to, but most arguments in Dust Town are won with some form of bloodshed. I'm going to take a guess that was Duran's brother Bhelen and from the accusations the other would be Harrowmont.

I roll my eyes at the guard captain. Fucking snob. "Yeah, yeah, I'm a Brand, get over it. We need to speak to the Assembly."

His return glare would freeze me solid if dwarves could perform magic. "The Assembly isn't meeting at the moment." I can all but hear the smug glee in his voice at being able to fuck over my day. "The Assembly is not seeing anyone until the deadlock over the problem of not having a King has been solved. I suggest if you're that desperate you go find their Seconds and convince them you want to help."

I turn round, marching away with a growl. "I've never been in charge of making somebody King." I lower my voice enough to not be overheard by the other dwarves passing through the Commons. "Would it be enough to just work out which one supports what and then stick a knife in the one we don't want?"

"No. That'd just lead to accusations of direct outside assistance."

"Fucking Stone tits." I say. "So where would we find their Seconds?"

"Start at their estates." Duran says.

I take great pleasure in heading straight towards the guards at the main entrance to the Diamond Quarter. Normally the only way for a Brand to get up here is to take the back routes with the servants and be in possession of a token from the House that's sponsoring you. Obviously, not something I ever planned to do, no way was I going to lower myself to just being a toy for some Noblewoman who didn't like the husband that was arranged for her.

"Ah, Warden. The dog and the golem will need to wait down here." One of them says.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. These two do actually seem sorry that they're having to stop us. "Fine. Shale stay down here, don't cause any trouble. Amgarrak. Stay." I say, pointing to an out of the way corner. She gives me a betrayed look as she collapses to the floor with a whuff of air. Gorim digs through his pack and retrieves a bone for her. "She's not stupid." I say to the nearest guard. "If she needs to go do her business, just tell her where to go."

He nods and opens the door for us, wincing at the sound of bone cracking from the corner. I almost feel sorry for the poor sod as we leave him behind with a talkative insulting golem and a sullen war hound.

The Diamond Quarter may as well be called the Jewel Quarter. There's precious stones adorning works of art on the walls, metal inlays in the stone and a water fountain that's made from a huge amythyst geode. Something like that would be destroyed in hours in Dust Town and the crystals sold on for whatever can be got for them.

"This one." Gorim says quietly from beside me. "Harrowmont estate. The one running for King is probably Pyral, he's the head of House."

"Anything else I should know?" I ask as I pull us into an alcove so can ask a few questions.

"Old family, unless things have changed, they have a solid alliance with Houses Forender, Vollney and Dace."

"So who's with Aeducan then?"

Gorim hums softly. "It was Helmi, Rousten, Brodens and Gherlen. All more traditional Houses, so they might have switched for all I know. Bhelen was close with Gavorn and Ivo, and depending on what he's been saying Bemot and Meino might be with him. Helmi might have kept their alliance if Denek's managed to finally wrest control from his mother."

I blink. "That means sod all to me. Also, the fuck are you the one that knows all this, weren't you a warrior?

"Somebody had to remember it." Gorim says, "Because he wouldn't."

Duran makes a sound of protest and I reach out to pat his shoulder. I can totally understand why he wouldn't want to. I've had to start remembering all the human Lords and how they're related and allied and it's not fun at all. "I guess I'll just make it up as I go along."

Duran snickers as I square my shoulders and head for the main doors to the Harrowmont estate. I needn't have bothered. They refuse to even speak to us and I growl as I am told Lord Forender will speak to me when he has time. I know I'm Branded, but really? What part of 'this shit needs dealing with as soon as possible' is so hard to fucking understand.

We move along towards the Aeducan Estate. That isn't closed to me, although I can feel the eyes of the guards watching us. Duran is tense beside me, constantly shifting his gaze from door to door. A servant darts off to fetch 'her'. I get a shrug from Duran and Gorim at that, neither of them apparently know who is being fetched.

It's why I just stare in shock at the 'her' in question until her arms are wrapped around me. "Rica?" I choke out as I belatedly raise my own arms. "What are you... No, don't tell me your mysterious patron is Bhelen fucking Aeducan."

"Don't swear, he loves me 'Ren."

I take a deep breath. Love. Ha. Love is... The fuck do I know what love is? A quick tumble in a tent? Love isn't something a Noble would confess to a brand.

"I know what you're thinking little brother. He does." She says, refusing to let me go as she rests her head on my shoulder. "I have a son." She adds, as if it's no big deal.

"Well then, of course he does." I agree. He could just be keeping her around because she's the mother of his potential heir. If he ever shows that he doesn't love her I might just solve this whole King business with a knife in the back anyway. "We need to talk to him, it's rather important."

"He's busy." She says. "He's been in the Assembly trying to sort things out since his father died. I could probably introduce you to Vartag though."

I glance over her shoulder and Gorim flicks his fingers in a 'go ahead' sign. "If you would please." I say and she reluctantly lets me go.

She trots out the door, waving away the guard who tries to follow her with a glance back at us. "If the Wardens can't protect me, you wouldn't have a chance." She says and I shrug at the guard who steps back, apparently content to trust us with her. Gorim glances at me before moving up to take the place of a Second for her, right now he's probably in a better frame of mind to be watching for trouble anyway.

Duran leans in towards me, speaking quietly enough I have to strain to hear him. "Bhelen was hiding her from Father and Trian you know."

"Just seems like it's doomed you know, a Noble and a Brand. What if she had birthed a girl?"

Duran is silent for several steps. "I think he'd still love her. If it's one thing the surface has taught me, we're all the same, why shouldn't a Noble love a Brand? Maybe they worked it out without having to go through the being exiled stage."

That makes sense, but I can't help but wonder if he's alluding to something other than Bhelen and Rica there. With that sodding helmet on I can't read him at all and there's no time to ask if he was, not as Rica slows to a stop and bows. I need to put everything else aside and focus on my job right now. We have candidates to scope out and a King to put on the Throne. Somehow.


	27. 9:30 Dragon, 4 Kingsway, Orzammar

"Supporting Bhelen is looking like the better option the more I hear about Harrowmont. And that's not taking into account that I really don't want to Bhelen to lose this given my sisters position relies on him." Faren says once we're in the guest quarters we've been provided with and Shale is guarding the door to keep away any eavesdroppers.

I sigh. "As much as I'd rather wring his neck, you may be right." I really don't want to throw my lot in with him on principle. He set me up and then exiled me to what should have been a violent death at the hands of darkspawn somewhere in the Deeps.

"He hides it well, but have you seen the way Harrowmonts man sneers whenever he has to talk to me. Your brother's second at least treats me like I'm capable of thinking for myself." Faren says as he sits down on one of the beds and runs a hand through his hair.

"I know Pyral asked us to enter the Provings." I muse, "we could enter without declaring support, it's unusual but not uncommon. You simply declare allegience if you should win."

"What, and support Bhelen." Faren says, a smirk settling across his features. "I like it."

"We'll need to be careful, Pyral mentioned two of his fighters pulling out so I suspect some form of rigging is going on."

Gorim laughs from the other bed. "I'd be highly disappointed if your brother wasn't rigging the Provings, and I'm also certain these aren't entirely truthful." He's leaning over the papers Vartag gave us and I sigh, reaching up to pinch my nose.

Faren chuckles. "Bhelen managed to pull off a coup that left him as your Father's sole heir, I would think a small amount of contract forgery and Proving rigging is a minor detail compared to that. I don't give a shit if those papers are real or not if they get the job done."

I really can't disagree, no matter how much I'd like to go blow open both his schemes and show him to be a manipulative liar. It's that sort of ruthless ambition Orzammar needs right now.

"So, enter the Provings then go find Helmi and Dace with the contracts?" Gorim says as he gathers the papers and secures them under his armour.

"Sounds like a plan to me." Faren says as he bounces to his feet and heads for the door. He stops with one hand on the handle. "So how the fuck do I enter a Proving?"

The sign up is relatively easy. Faren manages to scrawl his name as I've been teaching him in the correct spot on the slate and then he trots off to fight. I must admit I'm a little jealous. Okay, a lot jealous, but they expect the Warden they have come to see as the leader to fight so there's nothing for me and Gorim to do but watch and pat him on the back between matches as he decimates the first few opponants.

He's grinning as he returns with his next match up. "Paired combat, who's coming?"

I look at Gorim and behind the slit in the visor I can see his eyes narrow. I raise a closed fist and we do a quick round of stone, geode, hammer.

"Really?" Faren asks as I follow him to the entrance of the arena. "You settled that with a child's game."

"Worked didn't it. Who are we fighting anyway?"

"Some Noble called Darvaniak and his Second." Faren says rolling his shoulders before checking his quarrels are all in the right spot on his hip.

"Unless he's got himself killed his Second is Olaniv, I can easily take him if you fill Vollney with bolts."

Faren smiles. I like that smile. It's the one that promises pain in a very quick time. It's a good thing these Provings are to knock out or submission rather than death or he'd have left a trail of bodies behind him by now.

I rather think he didn't actually need me in that fight. He took Darvianak out with one well placed bolt to the shoulder. It's rather impossible to lift and swing a heavy two handed war hammer without a working arm. Then he just stood and watched me knock Olaniv out.

And that of course leaves only one fight. Last round of a Memorial Proving is always a squad battle and of course my cousin has been fighting, we're just lucky the draw didn't put Faren up against him earlier, I'm not sure who would have won. "Piotin is good." Gorim is saying to Faren who's trying to remember what Gorim's telling him. We're going in at a disadvantage. Golems are obviously not allowed in the Provings and for some reason neither are dogs. And yes, there's actually a written in Stone rule that Ferelden War Hounds are banned. I'd love to find the story behind that. So, anyway, we're going to be three against four, and Piotin is one of the few who could regularly beat me while training.

It's a good match, far longer than the rest. Ancestors I've missed this. The Deep Roads and the darkspawn were always my main goal, but there's something about fighting in the arena with hundreds of eyes watching your every strike, roaring for blood that I can't describe.

By the time we're done. Piotin's three fighters are downed as is Gorim, though I can see chests rising and falling on them all, so I'm not too worried. I'm limping, my breath coming in heaving pants as I focus on Faren who has a knife at Piotin neck. My cousin is kneeling in the sand and I can hear him growl, hands clenching by his side before he gives in and flattens both hands into the sign for submission.

Faren backs away, letting him stand as our victory is announced. I smile beneath my helmet as I limp over to Gorim as Faren raises his voice to declare his support for Bhelen. Unexpected given the murmur that passes round the arena before those that also support Bhelen are screaming in delight.

"That, I didn't expect Warden." Piotin says, far friendlier than he was before the fight, though there's still a wariness that he's not masking.

Faren flashes him a grin. "Did you know I've got a sister." He asks as he stands aside so the healers can get through. I wave them away from Gorim as I feel him stir and I loop his arm over my shoulder to haul him to his feet. All we need to do is get back to our rooms and I can raid the stash of potions Faren has been building up and storing in his pack, the novelty of having access to so many of them not yet worn off for him.

"This sister." Piotin says as he falls into step with Faren behind us, "wouldn't happen to be called Rica would she?"

"What a coincidence, she might just be." Faren says.

"Indeed." Piotin dips his head. "Congratulations on your victory... Cousin." He says before striding off towards the healers who have pulled his team out of the arena and are seeing to them.

Faren stares after him until I poke him. He shakes himself and loops Gorims other arm over his shoulder. "I think I've just been promoted." He says and I chuckle.

"Welcome to the world of politics where alliances change quicker than you can think about them."


	28. 9:30 Dragon, 11 Kingsway, Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duran heads into Dust Town with Faren.

"We'll be fine." Is all Faren says as I follow him. Gorim doesn't seem convinced as we set out and leave him glaring after us. But Faren has made up his mind. If he drags too many people through Dust Town, everybody will vanish. Visitors, he says, are to be hidden from for all but those with nothing to lose. Visitors mean trouble. And trouble is just another word for dead.

I shrug - I'm already missing the feel of my heavy plate. I'm feeling far too exposed in the armour Faren managed to get hold of. Probably through Vartag, I noticed them conspiring last night and the package had been delivered this morning. They're well worn leathers, torn and stitched back together in places with discolouration I'm hoping is a bloodstain rather than anything else. Mine's got a bit of chain in places and it jingles as we move through the Commons. I do hope Faren's not counting on us being stealthy, I could wake a herd of Brontos with how shoddily this is put together.

It's amazing the difference a change of clothes can make, without the familiar silver and blue heraldry we're just a pair of dusters now.

How many times has Faren told me, I wouldn't truly understand unless I've lived there, whenever we speak about Dust Town. How many times had I scoffed and told him that of course I understood, I wasn't blind. I wasn't Trian who refused to even set foot near the entrance to the place. I'd done guard rounds there. Admittedly not many and not officially. I'd wanted to know all the parts of Orzammar I might need to defend.

I'm starting to think he was right. I don't understand.

We're only half way across the Commons and already three guards are casually moving our way, hands on the hilts of their weapons. the shopkeepers who I always remember as so warm and friendly are closed off, eyes narrowing as if just getting too near could contaminate their wares. The whispers are perhaps the worst.

Scum. Mistakes. Dirt. Forsaken.

Faren hunches his shoulders, slouching slightly, keeping his head firmly turned to the ground. He seems to slide through the market crowd without drawing too much attention. I try to copy him, letting the insults and murmurs of disgust pass over my head. I can't imagine growing up with that as your introduction to life. When even buying the most simple food garners disgruntled bystanders and disgust from the merchant who tests every one of the coins that are handed over. I've never had my coin tested before in my life, it would be an insult to my House - my former House - to even suggest that I might use false coin.

Faren keeps hold of the brace of spiders as we approach Dust Town, they're not the best specimens I've seen, they're small bodied and some are missing legs. Clearly we were never going to get value for money. For the coin he paid I'd have expected more. He seemed surprised he managed to get so many. He dodges a kick from the guard at the entrance when he gets too close and bounds down the cracked stairs. All with an ease that suggests it's nowhere near the first time he's been subjected to such a welcome back.

"Try and stay where you belong," the guard shouts after him and I duck past while he's preoccupied. "Sodding scum like you shouldn't be allowed up here." He mutters as I scurry out of reach and only Faren reaching out to grab my arm stops me from flashing him a rude gesture.

I shiver slightly, wondering if it's my imagination that it's colder here. it could just be a trick of the dark that seems to be gathering the further in we get. The lamps here are holding smoky oil and wicks rather than the bioluminescent moss that is used higher up. It's giving the entire place a heavy atmosphere as the smoke hangs in the air. "Is it colder here?" I finally mutter as Faren stops just out of sight of the guards to wait for our eyes to adjust.

"Usually yeah, the lava channels that run through the back of up there," he gestures towards the higher levels, "they run from the Diamond Quarter at the top, down through the living spaces for the smiths, artisans and merchants before going through the Commons and the servant quarters hidden at the back, then it all goes through all the smithies and down into the reservoir. Right?"

"Essentially yes," I say, wondering what this has to do with Dust Town being so cold. "And the Warrior Quarters over the other side of the Proving and Training grounds has their own supply too."

"Yeah, well, whenever this area was abandoned the piping and reservoirs were blocked up or diverted or something. We got no heat here and water is easiest to get by going to the open fountains in the Commons."

"That is washing water." I point out.

Faren shrugs. "Better than what you can get out of the fucking taps round here."

I don't really have an answer for that. If the Commons water supply is considered good quality I truly don't want to need a drink while I'm down here. I'm dreading what'll come up next on my list of things I'm going to be surprised with that I really shouldn't be given what Faren seems to consider a luxury and I take for granted. I've now got a sizable list of things that really need to change; heat, water, lighting, guards that are as likely to kick you than help, merchants that won't always sell you food and a distinct lack of suitable housing. 

"Right. Do me a sodding favour and stay quiet would you. I've information to collect," he waves the brace of spiders, "and your deep lord accent will shut everyone up."

I nod, taking another look round at the shadowed alcoves and broken walls. That's fine by me. I can use the time to keep an eye on my surroundings, I've got my own information to collect.


	29. 9:30 Dragon, 12 Kingsway, Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faren was not looking forwards to meeting Jarvia again

I growl, peering back down the passageway. Seems some fools decided to hide and follow us. "That's a terrible idea salroka." I speak loudly enough that anyone hoping to catch us unaware will know I've heard them. This is starting to feel more and more like a trap. Not that it didn't before.

Duran kicks the last door down, letting me stalk through, my eyes flicker round, placing dwarves where they are peering round columns or from over hastily built barricades. Mostly though, my attention is on Jarvia. I twirl a dagger, ignoring the blood that sprays from it. 

Appearing to be in control is half way to winning with a lot of dusters. They're here because otherwise they don't get paid. And without that they'll starve. I well know that the older you are the harder it gets to work as a thief when your face and clothes immediately set a watch upon you. If they think I'll win, some of these might not even fight. It's happened already with some running from us rather than head to their death. Dusters are not an army, there's no promise of honour or glory keeping them in line. Only fear of their boss, and if the boss dies... who'll know they ran away to save their own skin?

Jarvia smiles. I'd call it friendly if not for the fact theirs no warmth behind it. Her eyes are dead, they always have been and only Rica ever took me seriously when I told her that Jarvia was far more dangerous than Beraht. "Welcome. Come on in." I stalk forwards a few steps before she raises a hand. "That's close enough. Lets keep this civil."

I laugh. "You. Civil? Fuck off."

She shakes her head. "Now, now. One of my boys suggested you'd come if we invited you. Like a nug trained to come to heel." She waves one of the dwarves out of the shadows and I grit my teeth as he stands there.

Sodding nuglicking cunt. I drag my eyes away from leske, back to Jarvia and the pleased smile she's sporting. "I'm here, and I've not got time for idle conversation."

"No. well then, we'll just have to show you what power the Carta has, won't we love?" She says, placing a hand on Leske's shoulder.

How long had I run with Leske? Long enough I can read uncertainty in his posture. “I know you couldn't really turn on me.” I say to Leske. He must remember I was always a better fighter than him, if I can get him to back off and not fight I might have a chance at taking Jarvia down without being stabbed in the back. 

“No,” Jarvia says quickly with a laugh, “we'll see who holds the leash here.” She smiles, all teeth and amusement as she hisses out her command. "Kill him."

I set my feet, arm flashing out then ducking down as a bolt passes too close to my head. I grab another blade from my belt, it follows the path of the last one, dropping the dwarva that had foolishly stepped forwards to take the place of the first one I targeted. The heavy crunch to one side lets me know that something has just met Duran and from the pained scream probably come off for the worst. The other dwarf I noticed on our flank hasn't made a sound and it's a half glance that lets me see Amgarrak shaking a body, her jaws locked around the throat.

All under control, I turn back to meet the threat I am expecting from the centre to find it isn't there. I stalk across the room, I'm half expecting a trap, an elaborate ruse, but no. Jarvia's dead, eyes wide in shock. She must have barely had time to realise what had happened before she hit the floor.

"Leske." I say quietly.

He blinks. I can see the confusion in his eyes as he turns his gaze towards me. Regret and satisfaction alike as he pushes himself up. I reach a hand out to steady him and he leans into me, a half stifled sob escaping him. I almost feel sorry for him. I know Jarvia, I remember her well. The way she would smile and laugh, as if there was a warmth missing from her and she was just copying Beraht. I wasn't the only one who saw it. Most though, they fell for her smiles and her wit, and she would reward them well enough for their loyalty that they would flock to her and to Beraht.

When I killed him Duncan only wanted to take me, why I don't know. But I knew then that it was likely a death sentence for Leske. When you've got a brand on your cheek there's nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Unless he'd turned himself in and requested to go to the Legion of the Dead, Jarvia would always find him eventually. And if she offered him a way to survive, can I blame him for taking it when I so readily took the way out that Duncan offered?

He pushes himself away as the soft footfall alerts us both to Duran's return from working his way round the room. He raises his hand, fingers flicking 'all clear, door locked', he says and I nod, scooping up Leske's blades and passing them up before searching Jarvia. I smile as I pull out a key from an almost hidden pocket.

"Lets go." We can sort everything else once we're done with this. If I remember rightly there's a secret passage up into one of the shops in the Commons. Once we're out I can get some sleep before figuring out how to let the guard know we've fucked up the carta and they might want to get in and keep the peace. And also figure out what to do about Leske. With Jarvia dead I'm now his only way of surviving. I suppose if needs be I'll conscript him. I won't leave him to the mercy of Dust Town like Duncan did, after all, I know what you have to do down here to survive.


	30. 9:30 Dragon, 19 Harvestmere, Deep Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They found a Paragon.

"Oh fucking sod, you gotta be kidding me."

I hear Faren exclaim beside me, I cannot say I give his exclamation much thought, I'm too busy staring round the cavern myself. We knew Branka had set out to find Caridin's legenday Anvil, I at least hadn't expected to find it ringed with metal frames. And certainly not with such exotic looking golems. Each one is different, individual patterns and shapes carved out for the armour. There's inlays on some, metals forming patterns across limbs and bodies. And they're not perfect, not unused, each and everyone bears damage, signs of repairs, though not, if I am any judge signs of disrepair. Each weld is neat and I step closer to one, letting my fingers run over the edge of an old scar that's more felt than seen.

Could this be the lost Legion of Steel? They were sent to find Caridin and the Anvil, did he leave something here which trapped them?

"Right, so which one of you is the sodding boss?"

"Faren, they are golems." I point out as I pinch the bridge of my nose, they're not going to answer him unless he finds the control rod for them, and even then no golem I've ever known has been talkative.

Faren turns back and then raises one eyebrow before jabbing a finger at Shale where it's standing just inside the door and looking round with a tilted head. Okay, Shale aside, but that's different. It was experimented upon by a mage if the stories it's told us are true.

"I will fucking sit here and talk at you till you sodding respond you stupid hunks of metal." Faren says, wandering off round the cavern and continuing to chatter non stop.

I sigh. Guess I'm waiting here till he's done being ridiculous.

The nearest golem sighs too.

I freeze, taking a prudent step back and recovering my hand which was still resting on it's leg, before l slowly look up into the metal face. There's no real expression, the faceplates only able to make the smallest adjustments but the eyes are now bright and glowing a shining silver blue.

"My condolences, I have one of those too." The golem says, it's tone a rumbling growl, yet it doesn't sound angry, more resigned.

Faren's "fucking told ya" overlaps with another rumbling voice that holds a distinct tone of amusement as it says "fuck off" from across the room.

"I'm Jalrik, Commander of the Steel Legion." The golem says before flicking its fingers in what I think is a handsign to continue. It's close to what we use in the army, an antiquated version maybe? I watch as most of the golems abruptly return to life and saunter off. All without a control rod, just like Shale. No wonder the Steel Legion never returned if they found a way to get out from being controlled.

Also. Steel Legion! I have no idea what to say, where to start. So many thoughts and ideas. If we could convince them to come back and fight... Ancestors, we might even have a chance at holding Orzammar. 

"We're looking for Branka. Long story short, we're in the middle of a sodding Blight and the nuglickers in the Assembly are deadlocked in a vote for a new king and she's the only sodding Paragon so we need her to put a crown on one of them." I hear Faren say to the red and silver golem that had protested as they begin to head across the cavern to us.

"What did she look like? We might have seen her." It says, head tilting to look down at Faren as they approach.

"Am I drunk again, cos it sure feels like it?" Oghren says as he plants his axe onto the floor and sways slightly, peering up at the golems like he's not sure if he's seeing things.

"Oh, good, you're here, can describe Branka to them." Faren says.

Gorim sidles over to me and leans in, his voice a weary hiss. "You went ahead for two minutes while I dealt with that drunkards loose bit of armour. Two minutes."

"I didn't know we were going to run into the Steel fucking Legion and that they would be alive!" I whisper back.

Gorim blinks. "Language."

"I think... Wait. Why do you never yell at Faren for his language?"

"Lost cause." Gorim says with a shrug.

"Her shield thing has a hammer and a knife?" Red and silver asks when Oghren falls silent.

"Gold forge hammer crossed vertical with a single edged knife on a dark grey field." Jalrik elaborates to which Oghren nods.

"That's what I fucking said." I have to double check it's the golem speaking, it's eeriely like Faren.

"Anyway," Jalrik continues as if he hasn't just been interrupted, "she's dead."

"Well nugshit." Faren says, tugging his helmet off and running a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in every direction. I have to resist the urge to reach out and flatten it back down. "Now how the fuck are we to convince the cunts in the Assembly to get a move on?"

"Would any Paragon do?" A third golem asks. It's easily the biggest here and the armour is an almost glowing gold that I think might just be volcanic aurum. How I managed to miss it approaching I don't know. Then again it might be that the shock of so many independent golems hasn't quite set in yet. 

"I suppose, if you know another one." Faren says slowly.

"Branka was the only living Paragon we had." Gorim adds.

Though I have a slowly forming theory about who we might be talking to. If I'm right, well, it's going to shake up a lot of history. Not least because he's supposed to be dead.

I open my mouth to ask when Shale steps forwards. Its hand twitches slightly and its weight rocks from one foot to the other. Is it nervous? It's not an emotion I'd associate with it and yet it seems afraid of something.

"What's wrong?" Faren asks when Shale doesn't speak, though clearly it has something it wants to ask.

"It is unsure. It knows you and yet, It does not?" Shale says, focussing on the golems. On the gold coloured one.

All three of them seem surprised, but it is the one I had my suspicions about which makes the biggest move, taking almost a full step back, helm sweeping over Shale's frame. Jalrik reaches out to rest a hand on his arm, a reassuring gesture, yet another sign that they are indeed alive and not just automatons. "Now that is a voice I haven't heard in a long time." The golden golem says.

Shale seems to freeze and I exchange a look with Faren, even he seeming to sense this is not the right time for one of his witty comments.

"It remembers you too." Shale says slowly. "It remembers you Caridin."

I let out the breath I've been holding. Seems I was right.

We've found a Paragon.

If we can convince him to return I'm so looking forwards to the reactions of the Deshyr's.


	31. 9:30 Dragon, 14 Firstfall, Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faren thinks convincing Caridin to return to Orzammar was well worth it.

I come to a stop in front of the main gates into Orzammar and the guards currently keeping an eye on the deep roads. "I thought I'd give you a polite heads up. We found a Paragon and their guard force."

"As you say Warden." The Captain says.

I don't correct the excited murmurs from his soldiers about Branka. None of them actually ask me as I stand to one side and wait.

The panic as the Steel Legion made their appearance was amusing. First the wary confusion at the thump of feet. Then recognition of the sound as they appeared round the last corner. And then I could see the awed looks as Caridin stopped beside me and they got a proper look at him. He's far bigger than the plain stone golems that I've seen dotted through the deep roads and his armour reflects the light to give him an almost burnished gold hue.

"So, where's Branka?" The Captain asked, peering at my companions as they made their way over.

"Branka? Dead." I replied flippantly, a small smirk pulling at one corner of my mouth.

"But, you said you have the Paragon."

"I told you I have A Paragon." I correct.

"Warden." He growls.

"This is Caridin." I say, taking pity on the confused guard.

Who promptly stares up, eyes wide. Then he slowly turns his head to take in the rest of the golems cluttering up his guard post and even more that are patiently waiting to enter Orzammar. "Oh fuck."

I laugh, the sound melding with the deep rumble that escapes Caridin.

"So, shall we go crash the Assembly before word of us reaches them?" The Paragon asks.

"Literally or figuratively?" Duran mutters as he falls in beside us.

"Literally." the golem who sounds, according to Duran, exactly like me says with a hopeful tone.

"No Zara. Just no." Caridin replies.

"Can I at least come with you?"

"You and Jalrik can, everyone else stay in the Commons and don't cause any trouble." Caridin says before looking down at me. "Some advice for you: If they try and make you a Paragon, say no. Before you know it you end up with a whole House of idiots to keep an eye on, it's not worth the hassle."

"I'll remember that." I say with a grin as we set off. It's not exactly something that'll happen to me, what with being a Warden and not sticking around to do anything glorious or whatever they judge such things on.

"They're your House then?" Duran asks, an emphasis on the House that I don't quite understand.

Caridin hums. "As Orzammar records it, yes."

I'm clearly missing something here as Duran nods and says nothing more.

The rest of the walk is done in silence, I at least am too busy laughing as dwarva of every caste flee from the golems and then upon seeing the lack of destruction as they start to explore the Commons, slowly creep back to point and whisper.

The Assembly Steward, Bandoleer, I think he was called, to his credit simply raises a brow before pushing the doors open for us. Sound swells out, voices raised in anger as the deep lords yell at each other.

That comes to an abrupt halt as we step inside. "You wanted a Paragon to settle things?" I say, staring round at them all. "Well, we found you one."

Caridin moves from beside me, pacing out into the centre of the floor, for such a large construct he moves very quietly, only the thump of his feet echoing in the quiet hall. "It has been," he says slowly, as if he is measuring each word, "a long time since I've been in this hall. Yet I see nothing has changed. Still you argue like tazpadam over a week old corpse instead of looking to the bigger problem. Darkspawn are at your door. Some of your houses I recognise, did your Ancestors not teach you anything of how close they came to annhilation?"

"What is the meaning of this Warden? You think to have a golem you found spout off a speech and then you can tell us who you want as King?"

"I can speak for myself, Lord Forender." Caridin's voice is chastising as he looks round the chamber. "I am neither a mindless automaton or a fool."

"Who are you then?" Bhelen asks.

"A slightly more intelligent question Lord Aeducan. I am Caridin, first of my house. Paragon as declared by the same assemblage as you yourselves currently occupy."

I smile as I lean against the doorframe, there's not a sound from the deep lords. None seem to know what to say to that announcement. I mean, what the fuck are they meant to say? Welcome back, where the sodding fuck have you been, by the way, we're useless at this agreeing on something business, can you do everything for us?

"Paragon Caridin." Harrowmont says slowly, "We sent the Warden to find one who could end this stalemate. Are you then here to choose who shall lead Orzammar?"

"You make it sound like I'm going to flip a coin." Caridin says. "No, I wish to hear why you should be king." He holds up a hand when several voices overlap. "Come with me Lord Harrowmont. Everybody stay right here. I'll send for you in a little while Lord Aeducan."

I watch as Pyral follows Caridin out of the Assembly hall. We'd spoken a lot on the way back, about the views the candidates held, about Orzammar and the problems it had. I have no doubt Caridin will choose Bhelen, he found most of the traditionalist views outdated and remarkably stupid. What was the phrase he used: 'Tradition is good, there are many things we should hold onto. But not that which holds us back, which stifles us. There must be room to make more traditions to keep up with an everychanging world.' I found that rather profound coming from a golem who didn't have any idea what date it was and how much had changed. From what I could gather he was often frustrated by caste lines when he was not made of metal. Which is strange, as he said he was born a Noble, so he should have been able to just do as he wanted.

Duran and Gorim had both thought him born into the Smith Caste. The memories are apparently not as good as I was always told they are. If a memory is entered incorrectly how will they know in a few hundred years? I hadn't thought about that, why should I? Not like I was ever going in the memories.

The sound of feet thumping draws my attention back to the Assembly as Bhelen returns to his seat, smiling confidently at Pyral who I didn't even notice return. Caridin settles himself in the centre of the Assembly again.

"The first Blight nearly destroyed Orzammar several times. When I was a child the warrior caste were still low on numbers despite Paragon Aeducans work and that of his grandson who followed him as King. The only reason that decline didn't continue was because other castes were allowed to fight."

"That's a lie." Somebody mutters. "No other caste has ever fought."

Caridin chuckles. "Zaranaad, what caste were you?"

The red and silver golem steps out from the doorway and into the light. It makes the casteless brand inlay on what must pass as a cheek all the more prominent. "Me? Fuck all but dirt."

"Did you fight Darkspawn?"

"All the fucking time. Little shits don't know when to give up."

Caridin hums. "I cannot make more golems, and I doubt there are any here who have the skills. So you will need to find other ways. You need to be flexible not mired in traditions that will see you all in your graves. That is why I can only endorse one of your candidates."

I can see it on their faces. Bhelen knows he's won, the confident smile turning into a proud smirk towards Harrowmont. And Pyral is angry. Very, very angry and trying not to show it. I've seen that look before on Beraht and it never boded well. I push myself off the wall and shrug my shoulders, making sure the strap for my crossbow is ready to be unclipped. I have a feeling this is about to turn violent.

"Bhelen, of House Aeducan. I would see you take the throne of Orzammar and lead us in these troubled times."


	32. 9:30 Dragon, 14 Firstfall, Orzammar

I've both missed this and quite frankly, not missed this at all.

Just another day in the Dwarven assembly hall. Arguing, insults, blackmail, murder... Was it any wonder I spent as much time as I could with the Warrior caste? At least in their halls I could be assured I wasn't about to get a knife in my back. Trust and honour to them means keeping your friends alive against the darkspawn. The only trust amongst the Noble caste is that of the knowledge that everyone is looking to climb higher and bodies make convenient stepping stones, and honour is a personal thing that matters little if nobody sees you do the deed.

I swing my shield off my back and draw my mace in a smooth well practised manoeuvre as Faren growls out a dust town curse and throws himself into a backwards roll to smoothly come up behind myself and Gorim. It's a tactic that's become second nature (We wear scale and plate, Faren prefers leathers and chain). If they want to take out the crossbow wielding, knife throwing menace, they have to go through us first and that is no easy feat.

It's almost simple to subdue Pyral's followers. Apart from us, Bhelen knows enough of fighting to keep himself alive. And then, well, there's the golems. There's only three of them but they are a small army on their own. Did Pyral's followers really think they could take on golems that can pick them up and toss them like they weigh nothing was a good plan? Faren shakes his head as he leads us down to the Commons when it's over, muttering imprecations upon the Noble caste and their ancestors, (I let him rant and just nod at all the right points) up until we settle into a booth at the back of Tapsters Tavern. I prop my shield up, heraldry facing outwards in case anyone takes offence at us carrying weaponry and lean backwards with a sigh, all the aches and pains from the deep roads excursion coming back.

We've left Bhelen to deal with Caridin and his House. He can have the joy of solving the entire mess we brought back. It's what he wanted when he put himself forwards as king. He also needs to work out what to do with Pyral, he wasn't as stupid as his followers and stayed well out of the way. I have a feeling he'll have an unfortunate accident sometime in the near future. My brother wouldn't be stupid enough to leave such a loose end lying around.

Faren snorts as he waves at the barkeep. “You can't drink with your helmets on salroka.”

Gorim takes his off without a word and I find myself unsure. “I know, let me settle down first.” A single eyebrow raises as he wordlessly tells me that my bluff has been called and he knows I'm stalling. Sure, Bhelen knows I'm here and plans to accept me back into House Aeducan for my service - otherwise known as bribe me just in case I think the Warden oath to not take the Throne doesn't apply to me. He hasn't yet made the announcement and I'm unsure if I want to be seen now or whether I'd rather be long gone before he says anything.

A serving girl puts ales down and she and the coin Faren nudges towards her disappear back into the crowd without a word. One mug is pushed towards me as he raises the other in a salute.

I waver for another moment before unbuckling my helm and tugging it off. I raise the mug as Faren reaches out to run a hand through my hair - I don't know why he bothers, ever since it has been cut short (there's no servants on the surface in the wilds to help with intricate braiding) it refuses to lie in any semblance of order. His fingers brush across my cheek and his grin as he pulls away is infectious.

I still don't regret getting the casteless tattoo no matter the comments it is bringing right now. I can ignore the glares and comments, often pitched deliberately to be overheard, from around us as I have no regrets. Duran, (of no house in particular, caste-less, brand and warden), has done far more useful things in his much shorter lifespan than Duran (second child of the Royal and Noble House Aeducan) ever did. Being returned to the memories as a member of House Aeducan feels trite compared to the problem we have to solve on the surface.

"Are you planning to speak to Bhelan again before we leave?"

"Probably not. What would I say to him that we didn't say before?" I shake my head. "I was always closer to the warrior caste, spent more time with them than with my family. I just can't bring myself to care what he thinks." I take a pull from my mug, relishing in the taste of dwarven ale, even with the amount of varieties on the surface I've missed this nug piss. Faren shrugs slightly and I know that the casteless has more family loyalty than I ever had. Stone, he was nearly executed because he was protecting his sister.

"Is that duster of yours still coming back with us?" Gorim asks in the silence that stretches just a beat too long before Faren takes the change of topic and leaves the issue of my relationship with Bhelen alone.

"He will be. If he doesn't show I'll put word out that I've conscripted his ass and somebody will turn him in if I offer enough coin." Faren growls out, a scowl crossing his face for a moment before he smoothes his features. "He's a follower, good back up, loyal as one could find in this place."

"Duran says he was one step away from burying his blades in you." Gorim points out. Which I nod along with, it is a rather important point that we need to clear up.

Faren shrugs. "That's the Carta for you, ally with the strongest person and pray to the Stone that you survive. Right now we're strongest and he fucking knows that."

I share a glance with Gorim and see the same incomprehension in his eyes, but Faren's not lead us wrong yet, if he says that's how the casteless work then I will go along with it. It won't make me keep less of an eye on the new addition just in case Faren's wrong about him. And if those blades do head towards Faren's back... I've got a much bigger blade I'll happily use to show the duster that turning on us is the last mistake he'll make.


	33. 9:30 Dragon, 30 Haring, Landsmeet

What a fucking mess. First Orzammar now Ferelden. What part of 'it's a sodding Blight' is so hard to understand. And they say Dwarva are stubborn. I'm not seeing much difference between us and the humans right now.

"I think the difference is that you didn't go running off in a snit as soon as something didn't go your way."

"I didn't realise I'd said that out loud." I say with a wry smile.

Gorim's wife chuckles as she pushes herself away from the wall she's leaning against. "You've been cursing the stupidity of humans for a while. My brave husband and his fool brother are hiding in the kitchens."

I look round to see that indeed, apart from the two of us, the room is empty. I hadn't even noticed my audience had vanished, even Amgarrak is no longer by the hearth.

"Come on now." I'm sitting on a couch before I realise that she's guided me in that direction. "Get out what's bothering you so people don't feel like you're going to put a blade in them for speaking."

Had I really looked that angry? On second thoughts, probably. "Alistair is a fucking idiot. And a coward." I run a hand over my face, grimacing at the stubble that's quickly heading toward unkept beard. "We need Loghain. There's still too many Lords out there loyal to him. We execute him then they'll turn on us. Maybe not now, but after the Blight. He needs to live but he's far too dangerous to leave with any connection to the Throne."

"So you made him a Warden." She says slowly. "Alistair wasn't pleased. I could see that, I wasn't close enough to hear anything he said."

"He thinks this is an honour. A noble calling." My laugh is harsh. "Half the Wardens are conscripted from prisons. We don't have a sodding choice and if we survive the joining it's still a drawn out death. There's no fucking honour in it. Duty, yes, but honour isn't a word I'd use."

"Gorim said Duran refused to let him join. Said if he still wanted to ten years from now he could, is that why?"

"Aye. There's a lot of negatives and not many positives. Wardens can't have or sire children for a start."

"Ah." It's a quiet sound.

"Nor are we allowed to hold positions of importance outside the Warden ranks."

She's silent for a while working through the implications of that. "By making Loghain a Warden you ensured he cannot become King."

"Exactly." It's a beautiful solution Duran came up with. Elegant and binding for Loghain. There will be no backing out once he's joined. We get a fighter and a tactician who will inspire the common soldiers. His supporters will see that the crown is remaining in his hands as his daughter is Queen while he applies himself to the Blight. So very giving and charitable of him in their eyes.

And Alistair walked out because he can't work with him. Fucking blight spawned coward is what he is. Did he think it was easy for me to work with a Noble? I didn't walk away because it was too hard did I? No. I might not have ever chosen to be a Warden but even a sodding duster has some understanding of duty when it's thrust in their face.

"I presume Alistair left when Loghain survived the joining. That news went round the castle pretty quickly. So what are you intending to do now?" She asks slowly, a pensive expression on her face.

"About what? The Blight?"

"I was meaning Alistair."

"Not much I can do is there?" I say with a shrug. That's not true though. However I need to wait till later so I can slip out. I'm Carta born and Carta reared. I can't leave him out there doing who knows what.

"Well then, maybe he'll come round on his own and turn up when you need him." She says with a smile. "Now why don't you come down to the kitchens. Have a pint to celebrate dealing with the shite that is human politics."

"Oh, why not." I say, pushing myself to my feet and offering her a hand. That's perfect. If I can get them drunk enough, and they've both had a headstart on the ale, I'll be able to get out and back in before they even realise I'm gone.


	34. 9:31 Dragon, 1 Wintermarch, Landsmeet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Carta taught Faren a very important lesson: don't leave loose ends lying around.  
> Warning: char death.

“Alistair.”

“What? Oh, it's you.” The sword that had been raised in defence was lowered and I moved in to sit next to the fire. “How did you find me?”

In the darkness behind us both a soft whuff answered his question. “She brought me right here. Don't think anyone else will find you though.”

“Let me guess, you're here to convince me I overreacted and to come back.” Alistair said as he poked the fire with a stick until sparks flared.

“Something like that.” I said, reaching over to take the stick and stop the fire being put out by accident.

“Well, I'm not.” He said, “I can't believe that Duran just came up with that idea so quickly. Loghain's tried to kill us how many times?”

I shrug. “He was Noble caste.”

Alistair frowns, “what difference does that make?”

I take my time thinking of the right words to use, humans sometimes just don't understand these things easily. “Noble Caste are the dwarven leaders, right? So they all speak in the Assembly, and if they're really good they can be made a Deshyr which is like an exclusive higher level Assembly, They're the Kings advisors. Or they should be, if they ever stopped arguing. Thing is, a Deshyr is appointed for life, so both opening up a position and then getting elected to it, that takes a lot of politics.”

“You mean assassinations?” Alistair asks flatly, “And how does that relate to him standing with Loghain?”

“Assassinations yes, but also alliances with people you'd sooner sink a blade into.” I shrug again. “I don't entirely understand it either, I'm just a duster, Carta politics are much simpler. Do as you're told and don't piss off the boss.”

“Well, this isn't Orzammar.” Alistair says, moodily scraping at the dirt with one boot heel.

I'm sure I'm the youngest of them all, yet I often feel far older than my twenty years. “Duran thinks he can be made into a Warden. I'm going to trust that. I'd rather have Loghain killing darkspawn than fertilising mushrooms.”

That draws out a short barking laugh. “I just... I can't trust him. After everything he's done.”

“We never asked you to trust him.” I point out, “Only to tolerate him.”

“Yes well, that's not going to happen either.” He stares out into the darkness. “Right now I'm not sure who I hate more, Loghain or the Maker forsaken Archdemon.”

“Bit extreme that.” I say quietly.

Alistair doesn't seem to have an answer ready as silence falls over the little camp he's made. It reminds me of the first few days after everything went to shit at Ostagar. When we'd spend the evenings huddled round a tiny fire trying to stay warm, and on a few occasions, dry.

Thinking back on how woefully unprepared we were I'm surprised we made it this far. Being a tactical genius with several years of experience in the deep roads didn't help Duran with finding food or shelter. I was a little better equipped, I was used to going without and scavenging for whatever scraps I could find, but it was still too different. I'd hoped Alistair would know what to do, but the older Warden had never been given the same responsibilities or need to survive either myself or Duran had. He was too used to following orders and too unsure of himself to try and give them.

Even meeting other Templars hadn't revised my opinions of them and of Alistairs early years. They were all too submissive to the image of the Maker and their sacred duty to want to know anything else. They were like Dwarva Nobles without the political inclination. Which left them as what? Spoilt children who think they're powerful and due respect just because they wear that uniform. Take them outside and strip off their armour and I bet half of them would be like Alistair. Intelligent, but no drive to ever use their intelligence. Just a stubborn insistence on what they believe in.

I can still see the marks of Templar training in him. How he's too stubborn to stop and look at it objectively. “Would it help if we kept you apart?” I finally ask.

Alistair laughs. “You just don't get it. Being a Warden is an honour. And you're giving that to somebody who tried to murder us because we were Wardens.”

"I wouldn't consider it an honour. A duty, yes. An honour is something you achieve by hard work. But I know I'm not going to be able to change your mind am I?”

“No.” He gets up, pacing round the fire. “I think I'll go over the Waking Sea, join the Wardens in the Free Marches.” I hum softly as I stand, watching the pacing and letting him talk. “I don't think Orlais is a good idea, even if they do accept I'm a Warden. Of course I could head all the way to Weishaupt, let them send me on somewhere. What do you think?”

“I think,” my knife makes no sound as it clears the sheathe, “the Free Marches sound like a good plan.” My feet are silent on the grass, the months of practicing on the new surface terrain paying off.

“Well, maybe I'll go there then, ships aren't that hard to find.” Alistair says as I approach his back, he's stopped to stare at the fire again.

“Aye, and ships,” I say quietly, there's barely a sound as the knife slips past armour and sinks into flesh, “they sink all the time.”

He takes a ragged breath and coughs, blood covering the hand he's raised and he stares at it as he sinks to his knees.

I look down silently at him as he falls, death taking him within moments of hitting the ground. I hadn't wanted to do that. I really didn't want to do that.

“I am sorry you know. But leaving the King's son, even an illegitimate bastard around, I couldn't do that. You suggested you'd make a good King, conveniently forgetting the oaths you took when you became a Warden there weren't you? Anyway, if you thought that, what was to stop you starting another war over Ferelden. There are far too many humans who seem to see women as unworthy and you'd make an excellent figurehead for a campaign to remove her. I couldn't afford that.”

I leave the camp as it is, just extinguishing the fire and gently removing Alistairs armour, stacking it inside the small tent. By the time anyone finds him, if they even do, well, there's a lot of wild animals around, any one of them could have got him. 

“Amgarrak, come.” She trots out of the darkness, not giving the camp and the body that not so long ago would play with her a backward glance. I on the other hand can't help looking back. I won't tell anyone about this, not even Duran. My partner may have been the one born a Noble but I'm the one who has the ruthless streak. There's a saying in the Carta; A living enemy is a dangerous enemy, especially somebody with nothing left to lose. I've grown up knowing it as truth. It doesn't however, mean I have to like that part of myself.


	35. 9:31 Dragon, 18 Wintermarch, Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duran is so done with this particular day.

I press my eyes closed. It's too high, too exposed up here. Not that I'm afraid of the drop off the edge, that's not an issue, Down is good. Because down, no matter how far it is, there's ground. Solid, stable and unmoving ground.

Up is the problem. It's a hazy endless continuation of a whole lot of nothing. I really don't fancy my last sight being that.

It's quiet now. Peaceful. Like the calm moments after a rockfall as the dust settles and everyone is afraid to move lest it loosen something. Or it could just be the lack of sound, the archdemon's cry was shrill and grating yet deep enough to make the rock of the castle Tower we stood upon vibrate. The lack of that is jarring. Is it dead? It must be. Surely.

And who took it down? Because it must have gone down for it to be so quiet. If its not dead I'd know. We shredded both its wings, it wasn't flying anywhere. It's only option was to fight us or fall to its death. We were all there, Faren and Leske were dancing round it's feet, trying to find an opening on the scales down there. Loghain had been with me, both of us trying to see if there was anyway to cut its head off or I don't know, stick a sword in its eye or something. I got so close, I'd got up its back, and I took my hand off the spines along its back so I could put all my force into getting through it's tough hide at just the wrong moment, it jerked it head and I'd been thrown.

The silent sky was the only thing I saw after that. I think I must have blacked out. I should probably be in pain. I take another breath and sit up.

I try to sit up. Nothing changes, the sky is still above, mocking me.

"Duran?"

I need to answer that. The words are lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth.

"Duran? You fucking nuglicking Noble bastard, answer me!"

I don't think he's very happy with me.

"Duran? Shit!" He appears beside me, "You still with me?" His hand is in front of my face and I blink.

"Faren." His name is the barest whisper of sound.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He mutters as he stands up to go through his hip pouch, bottles clinking as he searches for something.

"Not that bad." I manage as he pulls out a very familiar vial and kneels back down.

He shakes his head, "Shut up." Then he's pulling me up and tipping the potion down my throat. Even if I didn't know what it was I'd know there's serious healing spelled into it, I can feel the wash of magic as it releases, enough to overpower even my senses with a heady glow of lyrium and the aftertaste of elfroot. Wynne had been steeping a cauldron to make this one vial for months, to the point where even us Dwarves could feel the magic in it. She also said taking it would be like being kicked by a druffalo, which I estimate to be similar to being kicked by a bronto; somewhere between painful through to excruciatingly painful.

For a long moment it seems like she is either lying or that it'd been too long for the potion to have any effect, maybe I'd been unconcious for longer than I thought, then the pain kicks in. A searing agony that seems to centre in my neck, curling down my spine until all my limbs are tingling. I'd scream if I had the breath too, instead I'm panting, breath shuddering as Faren holds me.

"Ouch." I say after a moment of consideration.

He laughs, sharp and stuttering. "Sodding nughumping asshole. I thought you were dead for a moment then."

Belatedly I look round, feeling muscles twinge as I move. "I'd like to not do that again." No wonder the mining guild were always petitioning for more potent potions to be imported. Herbal poultices will seal an injury and stop infection, but only potions with magic in them will knit bone and reconnect nerves and muscle. And as I just found out, high speed Dwarva versus rock is not favourable for the Dwarva.

I stare round at the stone that's littered around the Tower. It looks like a lyrium happy sapper set off an explosion. There's whole chunks of the Tower torn up and scattered round. And in the centre is the deep red body of the archdemon, slumped down as if it's just sleeping. "Who got it?"

"Loghain." Faren says. "Guess he'll get a ton of accolades and be lauded as a savior now. Just what he'd have wanted. Leske's over there somewhere," He waves one hand in a vague direction over the rocks, "he had a broken leg so I told him to stay put as the potion I gave him works while I came to find you."

Silence falls for a while and I lazily watch the smoke as the wind swirls it about. Except for the fact everything is on fire I'm happy with smoke, it's blocking out a lot of the sky.

"Faren." I notice he hasn't let me go and I'm in no hurry to ask him to move.

"Aye?" He asks.

"Did you know, it's been exactly a year since we came topside."

He makes a surprised sound. "Has it?" He shifts, sitting down and then tugging me closer again. I don't resist. "Been a fucking shit year."

"Good ending though?" I ask, sweeping an arm towards the cooling corpse. "It's dead and we didn't die."

He snorts. "I'll go with that salroka. I'll go with that."

I lay my head on his chest, healing potions always make me tired. "Wake me up tomorrow. I'm done with today." I can feel his chest vibrate as he laughs. "Love you." I murmur and his arms tighten as my eyes close.


	36. 9:31 Dragon, 4 Solace, Vigil's Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They gave him a fortress. Of course it wasn't going to be easy to claim it.

"Just so I've got this right." Faren said as he loaded another bolt into his crossbow. To his left he could see Leske using the fence to prop up a bottle of something in a rather luminous shade of green that he was applying to his blades. "This is Vigil's Keep?"

"Yes Commander."

"And a group of darkspawn is a standard greeting?" He asked mildly, stepping over the body of one of the greeting party in question.

"Ah, no."

"And the fire inside? He asked with a tilt of the crossbow, the human following the gesture before snapping her eyes back to him.

"Probably not usual, no."

"And should there not be a wall and gate instead of a pile of rubble around about here?" He queried rather pointedly as he climbed over the remains of the entrance in question.

"Ah, yes Commander." The recruit said as she followed him inside. "It wasn't like this when they sent me out to escort you."

"No? Lucky us." He said blandly and Leske snickered.

Faren sighed as he reached the bottom of what had been his new front door. Bugger it all. If he'd known he'd be walking into a burning fortification as a new home he'd have waited to send Duran and Gorim up to Weisshaupt with the dispatches until after they'd dealt with whatever this was. With the length of that journey it'll be months before they're back in Ferelden, let alone back here. "Just once I'd like to be gifted a nice place that doesn't have darkspawn, demons, abominations, ghosts, undead, rabid dogs, blighted wildlife..."

"With your luck salroka, not a fucking chance." Leske interrupted as he vaulted over a wooden beam.

Whatever response Faren was going to make he cut off as Leske froze and he had to grab the human before she just blundered on. He clicked his tongue twice and Leske glanced back. Faren pulled a hand off his crossbow and circled his fingers to ask what he'd seen.

The answering handsignal was barely a flicker of movement, each gesture blending into the next. Leske had always been the quicker study with anything small and fiddly, it's why he made the traps and not Faren. His signs felt so overdone in comparison.

"What's up?" The human whispered and Faren twitched. How quickly he'd forgotten what it was like to travel with a party that included non dwarves who didn't understand their battle signals. It'd taken months to get some of them to remember just the basics. Though they'd all been surprised when Shale seemed to recognise them despite not remembering who had taught her or when she'd learnt them.

"Two Hurlocks warriors and two Genlock archers." He whispered back. Now he really did miss Duran and Gorim. Their shields would come in ever so handy right now. The recruits little buckler wasn't going to do fuck all against arrows. "Wait here till you hear sounds of a fight then come join in." He muttered before clicking again.

Leske gave him enough attention that Faren could pass on the plan and motion him to move out. It wasn't that hard to circle round, darkspawn are notoriously oblivious when they're busy arguing amongst themself. He stopped when he was peering round the edge of a house to the back of the darkspawn and kept an eye on Leske as he crept closer. The quarrel left Faren's crossbow at the same time Leske broke cover and put his blade across the neck of his target. Almost like they'd done that before. Enemy archers disposed of it was easy enough to deal with the other two now there wasn't the threat of becoming a dwarven pincushion.

"You made that look simple." The recruit said as she wiped her blade down.

Leske shrugged. "We've had a lot of practice."

Faren laughed, making sure to keep it quiet. "Lots and lots of sodding practice." He swept an arm over the seemingly silent fort. "Shall we."

There were more than he expected, or perhaps it was more the size of the Fort that was deceptive. He was both impressed that it hadn't fallen down yet and entirely appalled. Of course above ground structures were built differently but this sprawling mess was ridiculous. He hadn't even needed Duran and Gorim to be telling him that and he could imagine the whining they'd be doing right now about the place and it's lack of defensibility. They'd had to root out the darkspawn from every corner before reaching the inner gate. Seemed the guards had only managed to keep hold of one small section that was being used as an impromptu infirmary.

And of course the outer portcullis gate was down and locked, which meant sending Leske up the wall to the gate room to find the lever because Faren going himself wasn't acceptable. The guards were absolutely adamant. Couldn't have one of the Heroes of Ferelden dying in a fall. As if he hadn't been climbing rock faces with far less handholds than this since he was small.

Then the inner door was also shut tight and that apparently was in a room with no external windows and a barricaded door. The recruit thought there was another way in and with no way through the steel portcullis Faren had sighed and set off. He couldn't get a perfect read on how big the rooms were, they were still only stone slab walls not proper Stone but there was enough that he knew when they were turning back on themselves or might be heading into a good place to set an ambush.

His senses didn't do too well with avoiding the jet of flames that was cast at his head when they rounded one corner. "Sorry. Ah. It wasn't me?"

Faren looked over the bodies on the ground. Took a deep breathe. He got as far as opening his mouth to ask something before stopping. Took another breathe. "Can you kill darkspawn?"

"Yes?" The mage said and Faren cut off whatever else he might have been about to say.

"Move. Kill now. Talk later."

"You're rather grumpy today." The mage said as he fell in beside them, frost flickering around his fingers.

Faren just sighed. Sarcasm must be a mage thing. Morrigan had been just as bad too. He was glad the room they wanted wasn't too far away, he didn't have time to sort through getting another raiding party into working together. 

"Think the rest is just as much of a maze?" Leske asks as they watch the door rise with a dull thump of cogs turning and a rattle of huge chains.

"Why the fuck would it not be?" Faren said before whirling round as he caught movemnt out of the corner of his eye, only a last minute jerk stopping him from putting a quarrel through another dwarf on the opposite balcony. He wasn't sure the dwarf had seen them, his entire focus on the rising portcullis and the darkspawn he was taunting.

"Sod. Get down!" Leske said, diving for cover even as he spoke. Faren followed without missing a beat, one arm pulling the recruit over into an inelegant sprawl on the floor. Not a moment too soon as debris blasted over their heads, including bits of eviserated darkspawn. 

"The fuck?" He yelled once the ringing in his ears had subsided and the stone beneath his feet was no longer quivering. He needn't have bothered, the opposite balcony was empty of any sign of life.

"Lovely." The mage said as he banished whatever magic he'd brought up to shield himself, Faren noticed there was a circular spot around his feet and a patch of wall behind him that looked untouched.

"What was that?" The recuit asked as she wobbled back to her feet and stared at the flames still burning in a few spots and the chunks of stone that had been gouged out of wall and floor and thrown across the entrancehall.

"That was a dwarven stonemason with ranking tabs of a demolition master." Leske said as he brushed himself off. "Mining caste. Crazy fuckers the lot of 'em."

"I thought dwarves didn't keep their, uh, jobs when they came to the surface?" She asked, wincing a little when she apparently couldn't find any better words to ask what she wanted.

Faren snorted as they moved further into his Fort. "Nah, just Orzammar stops recognising them as legitimately holding that job." He'd noticed a lot of dwarves still wearing rankings despite Orzammar's insistence that they lost their rank when they left, since after all, a casteless dwarf couldn't hold any rank. He supposed it made it easier to find somebody to do a job since the surface hardly had set places where a craftmaster could be found.

"So they wouldn't recognise you as the wonderful Hero of Ferelden?" The mage said as they set off at a jog, the first set of darkspawn they met not even realising they were there before they met varied ends.

"Well." Faren said, "Grey Wardens are an exception to the surface rule." He shrugged lightly as they swept the room for traps before moving on. "It's kind of like the Shapers or the Legion of the Dead. Shapers can come from any caste."

"Not casteless though." Leske adds.

"Any legitimate caste," Farin corrects himself, "but then you're a Shaper and you're not really a member of any caste, except the Shaperate is on a level with the Nobles. And same with the Legion, you lose your caste but join a not really a caste but it is sort of a warrior caste house."

"Well, that's certainly clear." The mage says.

"Are Wardens are that complicated too?" The other human asks.

"Wardens just don't lose their caste, even if they go up onto the surface, like a free pass to go topside and return because you're officially killing darkspawn."

"I see. So despite being Wardens and having a title like the Hero of Ferelden, you're still casteless?" The mage motions at his own cheek.

"You know a lot about dwarves, mage."

"It gets very boring in the circles, any book is a good book after a while, and my name is Anders, unless you want me to start calling you slightly taller dwarf."

Faren raises one eyebrow, the Towers didn't seem too bad to him, good food, education, well appointed bathing and sleeping areas. No, he's not getting into that debate now, instead going back to the previous question. "I was casteless, the Assembly voted to make myself and Duran Paragons."

"Leske Brosca, of Noble House Brosca has an excellent ring to it." Leske says with a grin and Faren aims a fist at his friend who ducks away, snickering to himself.

They fall silent as the sounds of fighting in the next room make them get ready for another scuffle. Faren notices another fighter that he tags as a friendly because he or she is not a darkspawn, ghoul or demon. He doesn't realise who it is until the darkspawn are all down and a well known and definitely not missed voice is booming out.

"Commander, great to see you!"

There's a lot of things Faren would like to say. He settles for a simple: "Hello Oghren." Most of the other options aren't so friendly. He's always reminded a little too much of his mother when he has to deal with Oghren and his drinking. There's a reason he avoids any strong spirits himself, he doesn't have any fond memories from when he was younger whenever his mother managed to find something that wasn't watered down.

"Oh, don't act so unhappy to see me, I've decided to come join up. Become a proper Warden."

"Joyful news." Leske mutters.

"I see." Faren says and strides towards the next door, leaving Leske to bicker with Oghren. They haven't got on since Leske made a pass at Felsi and their sniping at each other does at least mean Faren doesn't have to deal with him as much.

"Is that normal?" Anders says about three rooms and two staircases further in with a pointed jerk of his thumb.

"Unfortunately." Faren says, though he does notice that the in progress argument pauses while he opens the door and checks if the way is clear. It isn't, and the reason is mildly disturbing. "Fuck."

"It's talking." Leske mutters.

"Fuck." Faren repeats before straightening up and striding out. It's in his Fort, it can sodding well speak to him.


	37. 9:31 Dragon, 24 August, Vigil's Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duran's home. Of course, Faren couldn't have a quiet time without him, when did their luck ever let that happen?

It'd been a long journey to Weisshaupt, whoever built that fortress certainly knew what they were doing, it had taken us several days just to find the correct route up to it. At least the return journey had been easier, we'd only gotten lost a couple of times. And now we have an entire stack of despatches and orders to bring back. I know Faren is expecting his appointment as Commander to be temporary, the first letter had simply told one of us to take command until a full outpost has been established and wardens would be transferred as needed while the other travels to Weisshaupt to give a full report. I'm going to enjoy seeing Faren's face when I read him the letter that confirms the position isn't being given to one of the incoming transfers.

"What are you smirking at?" Gorim asks as we keep plodding along the trail. If the last person we asked was right, the keep should be visible beyond this hill.

"Oh, just Faren's reactions to these." I pat at my armour where the letters are tucked away out of the weather.

"Ah, you mean how you elegantly declined the position of Commander and put Faren out as a good option?"

"Don't you dare tell him that the First Warden asked me first." I hiss. Clearly my name and connection to the King of Orzammar was good enough that the First Warden had tried to give me the position of Commander. Warden-Constable would be quite good enough. Faren could have the joys of being in command and dealing with the political nugshit Ferelden seemed to love throwing at us.

"Not a word." Gorim says before abruptly stopping. "Of course. Why would there ever by a nice quiet unobtrusive entrance and a warm bath waiting for us?"

I frown at the fires surrounding the Keep. They bear a lot of resemblance to battle pyres - the surface not having any convenient lava pits to just drag and dump darkspawn bodies into. My first assessment was apparently correct, the stench of burning flesh assaults my nose as we draw closer. Amgarrak whines and covers her nose when I look her way. "I quite agree girl."

"Looks like quite a battle they've had here." Gorim says, his head turning to take in as much of the area as I am. No doubt he's working out rough numbers and angles of attack from the damage I can see on the walls as we approach. Its just something we both do, knowing if there was a clear victory or a retreat can mean the difference between being ambushed the next night or not. "Nice stonework though. Dwarven."

I hum in agreement. I know what Gorim means. Properly deep taught, not some topsider stoneworker who thinks he knows anything just because his greatgrandsire came from Orzammar. And it is nice work. Well reinforced. Clearly meant to stand through dwarven warfare, not just topside fighting.

We clamber over a dropped beam from a house inside the walls, which just serves to prove my point about humans stoneworking abilities. There's a guard directing people nearby and I turn to head in his direction. "We're looking for Faren."

"The Commander has better things to be doing than speaking to the likes of you." The guard I accost says, staring down at us.

I growl. It sounds so much like Amgarrak's growl that she joins in, her lip curling away from her teeth. The guard pauses, then apparently decides that we wouldn't dare let her attack and we're just posturing to try and get what we want. Gorim's arm flashes out, grabs the soldier and hauls him back around so I can continue speaking. "I do believe he will make time for us. Where is he?"

"In the main hall." The guard says with a sudden stutter.

"And that is?" I smile. "Actually, why don't you just show us the way." The soldiers protest dies as Amgarrak growls again and he sullenly turns away with a curt gesture. We stride through the keep, the unhappy soldier leading us with an almost visible aura of annoyance.

"There. Great hall."

I plaster on the smile I perfected for Assembly members and nod my head in thanks before striding across the hall towards the only dwarf in the room. Not that I'd be unable to pick Faren out of a group of dwarves, it just makes it far easier when he's the only one.

"...it would be expected, and forgive me, but you seem to have another wanting your attention."

"What now?" Faren snaps out, not bothering to turn away from the human he's talking to.

"I can't leave you alone can I?" I can see the moment Faren recognises my voice as he whirls round, eyes flickering over all three of us. He doesn't quite make it to my arms as he was likely intending though. Instead he's flat on the floor with a happy Mabari trying to cover every inch of exposed skin with slobber.

I should help him. Should. Instead I'm sat on the floor and laughing till I can scarcely breathe.


	38. 9:31 Dragon, 26 Firstfall, Vigil's Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By request - reactions to a cat.

"Oh come on. Move!"

I stop at the pleading tone, listening at the door to Faren's office.

"I'll lift some fish from the storeroom for you?"

I pause, a frown settling on my face. That sounds like the way Faren talks to Amgarrak when she's being stubborn, except I'm pretty sure Amgarrak is out on patrol with Gorim. Besides the Mabari isn't that fond of fish.

"Please move?"

I crack the door open. "Can I help y... oh, you have a kitten!"

Faren gives me a sour look as the feline in question lifts its head to yawn, its claws continuing to knead Faren's leg through the thin linen he's wearing. It's just adorable. A mottled patchwork of black, burnished gold and white from head to toe.

"Hello there." I say as I crouch down and put a hand near its face. It stretches out, the tiny cold nose sniffing at my fingers before I gently rub its neck with a couple of fingers. It purrs and leans into the motion. "Where did you find," I quickly lift the tail, ignoring the feline grumble of displeasure, "her?"

"What the everlasting sodding fuck?" Faren says.

"What?" I blink as I continue to pet the kitten which is slowly inching closer to the edge of Faren's leg as she rumbles approvingly at my ministrations.

"Why has it not tried to bite through your fingers yet?"

"She." I absently correct. "And why would you do that? No, you wouldn't be so mean would you little one?" I croon as I scoop her into his arms. She doesn't protest the change of location, snuggling into my chest until I can feel the tiny vibrations she's making.

Faren stands up, stretching his legs, and I finally notice several small bloodstains on his thigh and a clear scratch down one arm. "I can't work out if she hates me or not. She's one of Sir Pounce-A-Lots kittens."

I raise an eyebrow. One of who's kittens? Who would name a cat that?

"Anders cat. With all that was going on we just thought his cat was staying in his quarters because he was afraid of all the activity as we prepared for the assault. Came back to check on him once the fighting was done and realised he was a she and there were four more tiny balls of fluff around. Anders gave this one to me this morning now she's apparently big enough to be away from Pounce."

"You do know she's not like a Mabari?" I ask carefully.

"Huh. Thought cats were meant to be intelligent." Faren says as he unhooks his overcoat from the door so he can go through the inner pockets.

"Oh, they are." I frown, naturally intelligent, unlike Mabari which rumour says are mage enhanced. There's an adorable squeak when I stop stroking her head and she glares until I start again. "You've never had a cat before have you?"

"You have?" Faren jumps on that, hope lighting up his eyes as he rubs one of the herbal salves he carries with him into his scratches.

"There were a few around the estate, my aunt owned them. As much as anyone owns a cat that is. Bit of a status symbol to own a surface pet as they need a lot more care than things like nugs." I smile at another tiny yawn that shows off her equally tiny needle like teeth. "You can't reason with a cat. They do what they want, when they want. Does she have food and water?"

"I thought she'd go out for that?" Faren says as he puts the salve tin back in a pocket and the coat back on the peg.

"And a bed?"

"Well I gave her a cushion to sleep on earlier, but she seemed to prefer me."

"Toys?"

"Uh..."

"Well, there's his problem isn't it little princess, you need a nice warm comfy bed of your own don't you? And some toys to play with so you learn to be a proper hunter. Yes you do. And some bowls. Don't you worry, I'll get you set up, yes I will. And what's he thinking making you think this room is your home? Come on, lets go rearrange our room to fit you in. You need to get used to your proper new home." I have to stop petting her to open the door and she takes the opportunity to clamber up to perch on my shoulder.

"I was really hoping you'd say no." Faren mutters. "Save my legs from further abuse."

"Has she got a name?" I ask, ignoring Farens grumbling as we make our way through the corridors, the kitten clinging to my shoulder as she watches the world pass by.

"I have no idea. Sir Scratches-A-Lot?"

I give him a flat look. "Absolutely not." Then I smirk as I pushes open the door to our quarters. "Atrast Partha-par Kallak." I rub one finger under her chin. "We can call her Partha for short."

The look Faren gives me once he deciphers the old words is that of pure betrayal. "You want to call that sodding little monster 'Peace'?" I just cackle as I set to rearranging the room to be feline friendly and the monster in question claims the centre of the bed with a contented purr.


End file.
